HEROES 


John  Burroughs 
John  Muir 


J 


Herbert  G.Hoover 


MARY  R.PARKMAN 


HEROES   OF   TO-DAY 


John   Muir   among   his  beloved  trees 


LHEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

JOHN  MUIR  .'.  JOHN  BURROUGHS  .'.  WILFRED 

GRENFELL  .'.    ROBERT  F.  SCOTT  .'.   SAMUEL 

PIERPONT  LANGLEY       .'.       EDWARD 

TRUDEAU  .'.  BISHOP  ROWE  .'.  JACOB  A. 

RIIS    .'.    HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

RUPERT  BROOKE .'.  GEORGE 

W.  GOETHALS 


BY 

MAKY  R.  PARKMAN 

Author  of  "Heroines  of  Service,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO, 

1917 


Copyright,  1916,  1917,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published  September,  1917 


TO 
MY  FATHER 


FOREWORD 

Once,  when  I  had  been  telling  a  group  of  chil- 
dren some  stories  of  the  heroes  of  old,  one  of 
the  number  who  had  always  followed  the  tales 
with  breathless  interest,  said : 

"Tell  us  the  story  of  a  hero  of  to-day !" 

"  There  are  no  heroes  to-day,  no  real  heroes, 
are  there?"  put  in  another.  "Oh,  of  course  I 
know  there  are  great  men  who  do  important 
things,"  he  added,  "but  there  isn't  any  story  to 
what  they  do,  is  there? — anything  like  the  dar- 
ing deeds  of  the  knights  and  vikings,  or  of  the 
American  pioneers?" 

Of  course  I  tried  to  tell  the  children  that  the 
times  in  which  we  live  bring  out  as  true  hero 
stuff  as  any  time  gone  by.  Nay,  I  grew  quite 
eloquent  in  speaking  of  the  many  phases  of 
our  complex  modern  life  with  its  many  duties, 
its  new  conscience,  its  new  feeling  of  individual 
responsibility  for  the  welfare  of  all. 

Then  I  told  the  stories  of  some  of  the  heroes 
vii 


FOREWORD 

who  are  fighting  "in  the  patient  modern  way," 
not  against  flesh  and  bood  with  sword  and  spear, 
but  against  the  unseen  enemies  of  disease  and 
pestilence;  against  the  monster  evils  of  igno- 
rance, poverty  and  injustice.  We  decided  that 
the  "modern  viking,"  Jacob  Riis,  had  a  story 
that  was  as  truly  adventurous  as  those  of  the 
plundering  vikings  of  long  ago ;  that  Dr.  Gren- 
f ell,  the  strong  friend  of  Labrador,  had  certainly 
proved  that  life  might  be  a  splendid  adventure ; 
and  that  the  account  of  Captain  Scott's  noble 
conquest  of  every  danger  and  hardship,  and  at 
the  last  of  disappointment  and  defeat  itself,  was 
indeed  an  "undying  story."  Joyously  we  fol- 
lowed the  trail  of  that  splendid  hero  of  the 
heights,  John  Muir,  and  of  that  gentle  lover  of 
the  friendly  by-paths  of  Nature,  John  Bur- 
roughs, and  found  that  there  was  no  spot  in 
woods  or  fields,  among  mountains  or  streams, 
that  did  not  have  its  wonder  tale.  The  stories 
of  those  brave  souls — like  Edward  Trudeau,  the 
good  physician  of  Saranac,  and  Samuel  Pier- 
pont  Langley,  the  inventor  of  the  heavier-than- 
air  flying-machine,  who  struggled  undaunted  in 
the  face  of  failure  for  a  success  that  only  those 
who  should  come  after  them  might  enjoy,  were 

viii 


FOREWORD 

particularly  inspiring.  From  them  we  turned 
to  the  heroic  figure  of  the  " prophet-engineer," 
General  Goethals,  who  proved  that  faith  and 
perseverance  can  truly  remove  mountains ;  and 
Herbert  C.  Hoover,  master  of  mines  and  of 
men,  whose  great  talent  for  organization  and 
efficient  management  brought  bread  to  starving 
millions. 

Carlyle  has  said  that  "the  history  of  what 
man  has  accomplished  in  this  world  is  at  bottom 
the  History  of  the  Great  Men  who  have  worked 
here."  When  the  real  history  of  our  day  is 
written,  will  it  not  be  seen  that  some  of  its  most 
important  and  significant  chapters  are  those 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  great  cataclysms, 
such  as  the  wars  of  nation  against  nation? 
Will  it  not  be  seen  that  the  victories  of  peace 
are  not  only  "no  less  renowned  than  war,"  but 
that  they  are,  in  truth,  the  most  enduring? 
These  "heroes  of  to-day" — doctor,  naturalist, 
explorer,  missionary,  engineer,  inventor,  jour- 
nalist, patriot — workers  for  humanity  in  many 
places  and  in  many  ways,  are  indeed 

"A  glorious  company,  the  flower  of  men, 
To  serve  as  model  for  the  mighty  world, 
And  be  the  fair  beginning  of  a  time." 
ix 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  LAIRD  OF  SKYLAND  :  JOHN  Mum  .     .      3 

II    THE  SEER  OP  WOODCHUCK  LODGE:  JOHN 

BURROUGHS        31 

III  THE  DEEP-SEA  DOCTOR:  WILFRED  GREN- 

FELL        53 

IV  THE  CAPTAIN  OF  His  SOUL  :  CAPTAIN  SCOTT    81 
V    A  MODERN  VIKING:  JACOB  Rns      .     .     .  105 

VI    A  PIONEER  OF  THE  OPEN  :  EDWARD  L.  TRU- 

DEAU 133 

VII    "THE       PROPHET-ENGINEER":       GEORGE 

WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 163 

VIII    A  SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY": 

BISHOP  ROWE 201 

IX    A  HERO  OF  FLIGHT:  SAMUEL  PIERPONT 

LANGLEY 233 

X    A  POET-SOLDIER :  RUPERT  BROOKE  .     .     .  263 

XI    A  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD:  HERBERT  C. 

HOOVER  .  .  295 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

John  Muir  Among  His  Beloved  Trees  .     Frontispiece 

John  Muir  and  John  Burroughs  in  the  Yosemite 
Valley 25 

Dr.  Wilfred  T.  Grenfell 55 

The   Hospital   at   St.   Anthony,   Northern  New- 
foundland      66 

Captain  Robert  F.  Scott 87 

Jacob   A.    Riis 110 

The  Jacob  A.  Riis  Settlement 119 

Edward  L.  Trudeau 146 

First  Sanitarium  Cottage  Built 155 

Major  Goethals 178 

The  "Man  of  Panama"  at  Panama     .      .     .      .195 

Bishop  Peter  T.  Rowe 213 

Samuel  P.  Langley 248 

Rupert  Brooke 274 

Herbert  C.  Hoover 300 

The  Belgian  Children's  Christmas  Card  .      .     .317 


THE  LAIRD  OF  SKYLAND: 
JOHN  MUIR 


Climb  the  mountains  and  get  their  good  tidings. 

Nature's  peace  will  flow  into  you 

As  sunshine  into  trees; 

The  winds  will  blow  their  freshness  into  you, 

And  the  storms  their  energy ; 

While  cares  will  drop  off  like  autumn  leaves. 

JOHN  Mum. 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

THE  LAIRD  OF  SKYLAND 

A  SMALL  Scotch  laddie  was  scrambling 
about  on  the  storm-swept,  craggy  ruins  of 
Dunbar  Castle.  He  was  not  thinking  of  the 
thousand  years  that  had  passed  over  the  grim 
fortress,  or  of  the  brave  deeds,  celebrated  in 
legend  and  ballad,  that  its  stones  had  witnessed. 
He  was  glorying  in  his  own  strength  and  daring 
that  had  won  for  him  a  foothold  on  the  highest 
of  the  crumbling  peaks,  where  he  could  watch 
the  waves  dash  in  spray,  and  where,  with  out- 
flung  arms  and  face  aglow  with  exultation,  he 
felt  himself  a  part  of  the  scene.  Sea,  sky,  rocks, 
and  wild,  boy  heart  seemed  mingled  together  as 
one. 

Little  John  Muir  loved  everything  that  was 
wild.  The  warnings  and  "skelpings"  of  his 
strict  father  could  not  keep  him  within  the  safe 

3 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

confines  of  the  home  garden.  The  true  world 
was  beyond — the  salt  meadows,  with  nests  of 
skylarks  and  field-mice,  the  rocky  pools  along 
the  shore  where  one  might  find  crabs,  eels,  and 
all  sorts  of  interesting  scaly  creatures.  But 
above  all,  there  were  the  rocky  heights  where 
one  might  climb. 

Sometimes  the  truant  was  sent  to  bed  without 
his  supper.  But  even  then  he  made  opportuni- 
ties for  climbing  feats.  In  company  with  his 
little  brother  David,  John  played  games  of 
"scootchers"  (dares)  in  which  the  boys  crept 
out  of  their  dormer-windows  and  found  con- 
genial mountaineering  exercise  on  the  slate 
roof,  sometimes  hanging  from  the  eaves  by  one 
hand,  or  even — for  an  instant — by  a  single 
finger. 

It  was  only  on  Saturdays  and  during  vaca- 
tions, however,  that  these  lads  could  taste  the 
delights  of  roving.  Johnnie  Muir  's  school-days 
began  when  he  was  not  quite  three  years  old. 
Can  you  picture  the  sturdy  infant  trudging 
along,  with  the  sea- wind  blowing  out  behind  him 
like  a  flag  the  little  green  bag  that  his  mother 
had  hung  around  his  neck  to  hold  his  first  book? 

4 


JOHN  MUIK, 

This  infant  had  already  learned  his  letters,  how- 
ever, from  the  shop  signs,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  passed  the  first  mile-stone  and  spelled 
his  way  into  the  second  book.  When  eight 
years  old,  John  entered  the  grammar-school. 
Here  he  studied  Latin  and  French,  besides  Eng- 
lish, history,  geography,  and  arithmetic.  In  re- 
gard to  the  methods  employed,  this  doughty 
Scotchman  used  to  say,  with  a  twinkle:  "We 
were  simply  driven  pointblank  against  our  books 
like  a  soldier  against  the  enemy,  and  sternly  or- 
dered: 'Up  and  at  'em!  Commit  your  lessons 
to  memory ! '  If  we  failed  in  any  part,  however 
slight,  we  were  whipped,  for  the  grand,  simple, 
Scotch  discovery  had  been  made  that  there  was 
a  close  connection  between  the  skin  and  the 
memory,  and  that  irritating  the  skin  excited  the 
memory  to  any  required  degree.'* 

From  the  school  playground  the  boys  loved 
to  watch  the  ships  at  sea  and  guess  where  they 
were  bound.  In  stormy  weather,  that  brought 
the  salt  spume  from  the  waves  over  the  wall, 
they  often  saw  the  brave  vessels  tossed  against 
the  rocky  shore.  Many  of  John's  school-books 
showed  ships  at  full  sail  on  the  margins,  par- 

5 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ticularly  the  one  that  stirred  his  imagination 
most — the  reader  which  told  about  the  forests  of 
America,  with  their  wonderful  birds  and  sugar- 
maple  trees. 

One  evening,  when  John  and  David  were  loy- 
ally trying  to  forget  dreams  of  voyages  to  magic 
lands  where  brave  adventure  awaited  one  at 
every  turn,  and  master  their  lessons  for  the  next 
day,  their  father  came  into  the  room  with  won- 
derful news. 

"Bairns,"  he  said,  "you  need  na  learn  your 
lessons  the  nicht,  for  we  're  gaen  to  America  the 
morn!" 

How  the  words  sang  in  their  hearts !  ' '  Amer- 
ica the  morn!"  Instead  of  grammar,  a  land 
where  sugar-trees  grew  in  ground  full  of  gold ; 
with  forests  where  myriads  of  eagles,  hawks, 
and  pigeons  circled  about  millions  of  birds' 
nests;  where  deer  hid  in  every  thicket;  and 
where  there  was  never  a  gamekeeper  to  deny  a 
lad  the  freedom  of  the  woods ! 

Only  their  grandfather  looked  troubled,  and 
said  in  a  voice  that  trembled  more  than  usual: 
"Ah,  puir  laddies!  Ye  '11  find  something  else 
ower  the  sea  forby  gold  and  birds'  nests  and 

6 


JOHN  MUIB 

freedom  frae  lessons.  Ye  '11  find  plenty  of 
hard,  hard  work." 

But  nothing  could  cast  a  shadow  on  their  joy. 
"I'm  gaen  to  Amaraka  the  morn!"  they 
shouted  to  their  envying,  doubting  schoolmates. 

It  took  six  weeks  and  a  half  for  the  old-fash- 
ioned sailing-vessel  to  cross  the  Atlantic.  The 
father  had  taken  three  of  the  children,  John, 
David,  and  Sarah,  to  help  him  make  a  home  in 
the  wilderness  for  the  rest  of  the  family.  The 
spot  selected  was  near  Kingston,  Wisconsin, 
then  settled  only  by  a  few  scattered,  hardy  pion- 
eers. Here,  with  the  help  of  their  nearest 
neighbors,  they  built  in  a  day  a  cabin  of  rough, 
bur-oak  logs. 

This  hut  was  in  the  midst  of  the  woods  which 
fringed  a  flowery  meadow  and  a  lake  where 
pond-lilies  grew.  The  boys  had  not  been  at 
home  an  hour  before  they  discovered  a  blue- 
jay's  nest  with  three  green  eggs,  and  a  wood- 
pecker's hole,  and  began  to  make  acquaint  ince 
with  the  darting,  gliding  creatures  of  springs 
and  lake. 

"Here,"  said  John  Muir,  "without  knowing 
it,  we  were  still  at  school;  every  wild  lesson  a 

7 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

love  lesson,  not  whipped  but  charmed  into  us." 
Soon  farm  life  began  in  earnest.  Fields  were 
cleared  and  plowed ;  a  frame  house  was  built  on 
the  hill;  and  the  mother  with  the  younger  chil- 
dren came  to  join  these  pioneers.  It  would 
seem  that  the  long  days  of  unceasing  toil — 
planting,  hoeing,  harvesting,  splitting  rails,  and 
digging  wells — that  retarded  the  growth  of  the 
active  lad  would  have  completely  quenched  the 
flickerings  of  his  wild,  eager  spirit.  But  he 
managed  to  absorb,  in  the  most  astonishing  way, 
the  lore  of  woods  and  fields  and  streams,  until 
the  ways  of  birds,  insects,  fishes,  and  wild  plant- 
neighbors  were  as  an  open  book  to  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  his  alert  mind  began 
to  hunger  for  a  real  knowledge  of  the  books 
which  in  his  childish  days  he  had  studied  with- 
out understanding.  He  read  not  only  the  small 
collection  of  religious  books  that  his  father  had 
brought  with  him  from  Scotland,  but  also  every 
stray  volume  that  he  could  borrow  from  a  neigh- 
bor. 

When  John  was  fifteen,  he  discovered  that  the 
poetry  in  the  Bible,  in  Shakespeare,  and  in  Mil- 
ton could  give  something  of  the  same  keen  joy 

8 


JOHN  MUIB 

that  a  Sunday  evening  on  a  hilltop  made  him 
feel,  when  sunset  and  rising  moon  and  the 
hushed  voices  of  twilight  were  all  mingled  in  one 
thrilling  delight.  All  beauty  was  one,  he  found. 

The  noble  lines  echoed  in  his  memory  as  he 
cradled  the  wheat  and  raked  the  hay.  The  pre- 
cious opportunities  for  reading  were  stolen  five 
minutes  at  a  time  when  he  lingered  in  the 
kitchen  with  book  and  candle  after  the  others 
had  gone  to  bed.  Night  after  night  his  father 
would  call  with  exasperated  emphasis :  "  John, 
do  you  expect  me  to  call  you  every  night  I  You 
must  go  to  bed  when  the  rest  do." 

One  night  as  he  descended  on  the  boy  with 
more  than  usual  sternness  his  anger  was  some- 
what disarmed  when  he  noticed  that  the  book  in 
question  was  a  Church  history.  "If  you  will 
read,"  he  added,  "get  up  in  the  morning.  You 
may  get  up  as  early  as  you  like. ' ' 

That  night  John  went  to  bed  wondering  how 
he  was  going  to  wake  himself  in  order  to  profit 
by  this  precious  permission.  Though  his  was 
the  sound  sleep  of  a  healthy  boy  who  had  been 
splitting  rails  in  the  snowy  woods,  he  sprang 
out  of  bed  as  if  roused  by  a  mysterious  reveille 

9 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

long  before  daylight,  and,  holding  his  candle  to 
the  kitchen  clock,  saw  that  it  was  only  one 
o'clock. 

' '  Five  hours  to  myself ! "  he  cried  exultingly. 
"It  is  like  finding  a  day — a  day  for  my  very 
own!" 

Realizing  that  his  enthusiasm  could  not  suf- 
fice to  keep  him  warm  in  the  zero  weather,  and 
that  his  father  would  certainly  object  to  his 
making  a  fire,  he  went  down  cellar,  and,  by  the 
light  of  a  tallow  dip,  began  work  on  the  model 
of  a  self-setting  sawmill  that  he  had  invented. 

"I  don't  think  that  I  was  any  the  worse  for 
my  short  ration  of  sleep  and  the  extra  work  in 
the  cold  and  the  uncertain  light,"  he  said;  "I 
was  far  more  than  happy.  Like  Tarn  o '  Shan- 
ter  I  was  glorious — '  0  'er  all  the  ills  of  life  vic- 
torious." 

When  his  sawmill  was  tested  in  a  stream  that 
he  had  dammed  up  in  the  meadow,  he  set  him- 
self to  construct  a  clock  that  might  have  an  at- 
tachment connected  with  his  bed  to  get  him  up 
at  a  certain  hour  in  the  morning.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  mechanism  of  timepieces  beyond 
the  laws  of  the  pendulum,  but  he  succeeded  in 

10 


JOHN  MUIR 

making  a  clock  of  wood,  whittling  the  small 
pieces  in  the  moments  of  respite  from  farm- 
work.  At  length  the  "early-rising  machine" 
was  complete  and  put  in  operation  to  his  satis- 
faction. There  was  now  no  chance  that  the 
weary  flesh  would  betray  him  into  passing  a 
precious  half-hour  of  his  time  of  freedom  in 
sleep. 

"John,"  said  his  father,  who  had  but  two 
absorbing  interests,  his  stern  religion  and  his 
thriving  acres,  "John,  what  time  is  it  when  you 
get  up  in  the  morning?" 

"About  one  o'clock,"  replied  the  boy,  trem- 
blingly. 

"What  time  is  that  to  be  stirring  about  and 
disturbing  the  whole  family?" 

"You  told  me,  Father — "  began  John. 

"I  know  I  gave  you  that  miserable  permis- 
sion," said  the  man  with  a  groan,  "but  I  never 
dreamed  that  you  would  get  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  night." 

The  boy  wisely  said  nothing,  and  the  blessed 
time  for  study  and  experimentation  was  not 
taken  away. 

Even  his  father  seemed  to  take  pride  in  the 
11 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

hickory  clock  that  he  next  constructed.  It  was 
in  the  form  of  a  scythe  to  symbolize  Time,  the 
pendulum  being  a  bunch  of  arrows  to  suggest 
the  flight  of  the  minutes.  A  thermometer  and 
barometer  were  next  evolved,  and  automatic 
contrivances  to  light  the  fire  and  to  feed  the 
horses  at  a  given  time. 

One  day  a  friendly  neighbor,  who  recognized 
that  the  boy  was  a  real  mechanical  genius,  ad- 
vised him  to  take  his  whittled  inventions  to  the 
State  Fair  at  Madison.  There  two  of  his 
wooden  clocks  and  the  thermometer  were  given 
a  place  of  honor  in  the  Fine  Arts  Hall,  where 
they  attracted  much  attention.  It  was  gener- 
ally agreed  that  this  farm-boy  from  the  back- 
woods had  a  bright  future. 

A  student  from  the  university  persuaded  the 
young  inventor  that  he  might  be  able  to  work  his 
way  through  college.  Presenting  himself  to  the 
dean  in  accordance  with  this  friendly  advice, 
young  Muir  told  his  story,  explaining  that  ex- 
cept for  a  two-month  term  in  the  country  he  had 
not  been  to  school  since  he  had  left  Scotland  in 
his  twelfth  year.  He  was  received  kindly, 
given  a  trial  in  the  preparatory  department, 

12 


JOHN  MUIB 

and  after  a  few  weeks  transferred  to  the  fresh- 
man class. 

During  the  four  years  of  his  college  life  John 
Muir  made  his  way  by  teaching  school  a  part  of 
each  winter  and  doing  farm-work  summers. 
He  sometimes  cut  down  the  expense  of  board  to 
fifty  cents  a  week  by  living  on  potatoes  and 
mush,  which  he  cooked  for  himself  at  the  dormi- 
tory furnace.  Pat,  the  janitor,  would  do  any- 
thing for  this  young  man  who  could  make  such 
wonderful  things.  Years  afterward  he  pointed 
out  his  room  to  visitors  and  tried  to  describe  the 
wonders  it  had  contained.  It  had,  indeed, 
looked  like  a  branch  of  the  college  museum, 
with  its  numerous  botanical  and  geological 
specimens  and  curious  mechanical  contriv- 
ances. 

Although  he  spent  four  years  at  the  State 
University,  he  did  not  take  the  regular  course, 
but  devoted  himself  chiefly  to  chemistry, 
physics,  botany,  and  geology,  which,  he  thought, 
would  be  most  useful  to  him.  Then,  without 
graduating,  he  started  out  "on  a  glorious  bo- 
tanical and  geological  excursion  which  has 
lasted,"  he  said,  in  concluding  the  story  of  his 

13 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

early  life,  "for  fifty  years  and  is  not  yet  com- 
pleted." 

He  journeyed  afoot  to  Florida,  sleeping  on 
the  ground  wherever  night  found  him.  * '  I  wish 
I  knew  where  I  was  going,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend 
who  asked  about  his  plans.  "Only  I  know  that 
I  seem  doomed  to  be  '  carried  of  the  spirit  into 
the  wilderness.' 

Because  he  loved  the  whole  fair  earth  and 
longed  to  know  something  of  the  story  that  its 
rocks  and  trees  might  tell,  he  wandered  on  and 
on.  After  going  to  Cuba,  a  siege  of  tropical 
fever,  contracted  by  sleeping  on  swampy 
ground,  caused  him  to  give  up  for  a  time  a  cher- 
ished plan  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  vege- 
tation along  the  Amazon. 

"Fate  and  flowers  took  me  to  California,"  he 
said.  He  found  there  his  true  Florida  (Land 
of  Flowers),  and  he  found,  also,  what  became 
the  passion  of  his  life  and  his  life  work — the 
noble  mountains,  the  great  trees,  and  the  mar- 
velous Yosemite.  Here  he  lived  year  after  year, 
climbing  the  mountains,  descending  into  the 
canons,  lovingly,  patiently  working  to  decipher 
the  story  of  the  rocks,  and  to  make  the  wonder 

14 


JOHN  MUIR 

and  beauty  which  thrilled  his  soul  a  heritage  for 
mankind  forever. 

He  lived  for  months  at  a  time  in  the  Yosemite 
Valley,  whose  marvels  he  knew  in  every  mood 
of  sunshine,  moonlight,  dawn,  sunset,  storm, 
and  winter  whiteness  of  frost  and  snow.  He 
would  wander  for  days  on  the  heights  without 
gun  or  any  provisions  except  bread,  tea,  a  tin 
cup,  pocket-knife,  and  short-handled  ax. 

Once,  on  reading  a  magazine  article  by  an  en- 
thusiastic* young  mountain-climber,  who  dilated 
upon  his  thrilling  adventures  in  scaling  Mount 
Tyndall,  Mr.  Muir  commented  dryly:  "He 
must  have  given  himself  a  lot  of  trouble.  When 
I  climbed  Tyndall,  I  ran  up  and  back  before 
breakfast." 

At  a  time  when  trails  were  few  and  hard  to 
find,  he  explored  the  Sierra,  which,  he  said, 
should  be  called,  not  the  Nevada,  or  Snowy 
Range,  but  the  Range  of  Light.  When  night 
came,  he  selected  the  lee  side  of  a  log,  made  a 
fire,  and  went  to  sleep  on  a  bed  of  pine-needles. 
If  it  was  snowing,  he  made  a  bigger  fire  and  lay 
closer  to  his  log  shelter. 

4 'Outdoors  is  the  natural  place  for  man,"  he 
15 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

said.  "I  begin  to  cough  and  wheeze  the  minute 
I  get  within  walls. " 

Never  at  a  loss  to  make  his  way  in  the  wilder- 
ness, he  was  completely  bewildered  in  the  midst 
of  city  streets. 

"What  is  the  nearest  way  out  of  town?'*  he 
asked  'of  a  man  in  the  business  section  of  San 
Francisco  soon  after  he  landed  at  the  Golden 
Gate  in  1868. 

"But  I  don't  know  where  you  want  to  go!" 
protested  the  surprised  pedestrian. 

"To  any  place  that  is  wild,"  he  replied. 

So  began  the  days  of  his  wandering  in  path- 
less places  among  higher  rocks  * '  than  the  world 
and  his  ribbony  wife  could  reach. "  "  Climb  the 
mountains,  climb,  if  you  would  reach  beauty," 
said  John  Muir,  the  wild,  eager  spirit  of  the  lad 
who  had  braved  scoldings  and  "skelpings"  to 
climb  the  craggy  peaks  of  Dunbar  shining  in  his 
eyes. 

When  his  friends  remonstrated  with  him  be- 
cause of  the  way  he  apparently  courted  danger, 
he  replied:  "A  true  mountaineer  is  never 
reckless.  He  knows,  or  senses  with  a  sure  in- 
stinct, what  he  can  do.  In  a  moment  of  real 

16 


JOHN  MUnt 

danger  his  whole  body  is  eye,  and  common  skill 
and  fortitude  are  replaced  by  power  beyond 
our  call  or  knowledge. ' ' 

It  was  not  entirely  the  passion  for  beauty  that 
took  this  lover  of  the  sublime  aspects  of  nature 
up  among  the  mountains  and  glaciers — "up 
where  God  is  making  the  world."  It  was  also 
the  passion  for  knowledge — the  longing  to  know 
something  of  the  tools  the  Divine  Sculptor  had 
used  in  carving  the  giant  peaks  and  mighty 
canons. 

"The  marvels  of  Yosemite  are  the  end  of  the 
story,"  he  said.  "The  alphabet  is  to  be  found 
in  the  crags  and  valleys  of  the  summits." 

Here  he  wandered  about,  comparing  canon 
with  canon,  following  lines  of  cleavage,  and 
finding  the  key  to  every  precipice  and  sloping 
wall  in  the  blurred  marks  of  the  glaciers  on  the 
eternal  rocks.  Every  boulder  found  a  tongue; 
"in  every  pebble  he  could  hear  the  sound  of 
running  water. "  The  tools  that  had  carved  the 
beauties  of  Yosemite  were  not,  he  concluded, 
those  of  the  hidden  fires  of  the  earth,  the  rend- 
ing of  earthquake  and  volcanic  eruption,  but  the 
slow,  patient  cleaving  and  breaking  by  mighty 

17 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

glaciers,  during  the  eons  when  the  earth's  sur- 
face was  given  over  to  the  powers  of  cold — the 
period  known  as  the  Ice  Age. 

"There  are  no  accidents  in  nature,"  he  said. 
"The  flowers  blossom  in  obedience  to  the  same 
law  that  keeps  the  stars  in  their  places.  Each 
bird-song  is  an  echo  of  the  universal  harmony. 
Nature  is  one. ' ' 

Because  he  believed  that  Nature  reveals 
many  of  her  innermost  secrets  in  times  of 
storm,  he  often  braved  the  wildest  tempests  on 
the  heights.  He  spoke  with  keen  delight  of  the 
times  when  he  had  been  "magnificently  snow- 
bound in  the  Lord's  Mountain  House."  He 
even  dared  to  climb  into  the  very  heart  of  a 
snow-cloud  as  it  rested  on  Pilot  Peak,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  experience  touched  the  very 
springs  of  poetry  in  the  soul  of  this  nature- 
lover.  He  found  that  he  had  won  in  a  moment 
"a  harvest  of  crystal  flowers,  and  wind-songs 
gathered  from  spiry  firs  and  long,  fringy  arms 
of  pines." 

Once  in  a  terrible  gale  he  climbed  to  the  top 
of  a  swaying  pine  in  order  to  feel  the  power  of 
the  wind  as  a  tree  feels  it.  His  love  for  the 

18 


JOHN  MUIR 

trees  was  second  only  to  his  love  for  the  moun- 
tains. His  indignation  at  the  heedless  destruc- 
tion of  the  majestic  Sequoias  knew  no  bounds. 
"  Through  thousands  and  thousands  of  years 
God  has  cared  for  these  trees,"  he  said:  "He 
has  saved  them  from  drought,  disease,  ava- 
lanches, and  a  thousand  straining  and  leveling 
tempests  and  floods,  but  He  cannot  save  them 
from  foolish  men." 

It  was  due  mainly  to  his  untiring  efforts  that 
the  "big  trees"  of  California,  as  well  as  the 
wonderful  Yosemite  Valley,  were  taken  under 
the  protection  of  the  Nation  to  be  preserved  for 
all  the  people  for  all  time. 

He  discovered  the  petrified  forests  of  Ari- 
zona, and  went  to  Chile  to  see  trees  of  the  same 
species  which  are  no  longer  to  be  found  any- 
where in  North  America.  He  traveled  to  Aus- 
tralia to  see  the  eucalyptus  groves,  to  Siberia 
for  its  pines,  and  to  India  to  see  the  banyan- 
trees.  When  asked  why  he  had  not  stopped  at 
Hong  Kong  when  almost  next  door  to  that  in- 
teresting city,  he  replied,  "There  are  no  trees 
in  Hong  Kong." 

In  order  to  make  a  livelihood  that  would  per- 
19 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

mit  him  to  continue  his  studies  of  nature  in  the 
mountains,  Mr.  Muir  built  a  sawmill  where  he 
prepared  for  the  use  of  man  those  trees  "that 
the  Lord  had  felled. ' '  Here  during  the  week  he 
jotted  down  his  observations  or  sketched,  while 
he  watched  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  to  see  when 
the  great  logs  were  nearing  the  end  of  their 
course.  Then  he  would  pause  in  his  writing  or 
sketching  just  long  enough  to  start  a  new  log  on 
its  way. 

Sometimes  he  undertook  the  work  of  a  shep- 
herd, and,  while  his  "mutton  family  of  1800 
ranged  over  ten  square  miles,"  he  found  time 
for  reading  and  botanizing. 

A  very  little  money  sufficed  for  his  simple 
needs.  Indeed,  Mr.  Muir  once  declared  that  he 
could  live  on  fifty  dollars  a  year. 

"Eat  bread  in  the  mountains,"  he  said,  "with 
love  and  adoration  in  your  soul,  and  you  can 
get  a  nourishment  that  food  experts  have  no 
conception  of." 

He  spoke  with  pitying  scorn  of  the  money- 
clinking  crowd  who  were  too  "time-poor"  to  en- 
joy the  keenest  delights  that  earth  can  offer. 

"You  millionaires  carry  too  heavy  blankets 
20 


JOHN  MUIR 

to  get  any  comfort  out  of  the  march  through 
life,"  he  said;  "you  don't  know  what  it  is  you 
are  losing  by  the  way. ' ' 

When  there  was  a  home  and  "bairnies"  to 
provide  for,  he  managed  a  fruit-ranch;  but  he 
was  often  absent  in  his  beloved  mountains 
weeks  at  a  time,  living  on  bread,  tea,  and  the 
huckleberries  of  cool,  glacial  bogs,  which  were 
more  to  his  taste  than  the  cherries  or  grapes 
that  he  had  to  return  in  time  to  harvest. 

Mr.  S.  Hall  Young,  in  his  interesting  narra- 
tive "Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir,"  gives  a 
graphic  account  of  the  way  John  o*  Mountains 
climbed : 

Then  Muir  began  to  slide  up  that  mountain.  I  had  been 
with  mountain-climbers  before,  but  never  one  like  him.  A 
deer-lope  over  the  smoother  slopes,  a  sure  instinct  for  the 
easiest  way  into  a  rocky  fortress,  an  instant  and  unerring 
attack,  a  serpent  glide  up  the  steep;  eye,  hand,  and  foot  all 
connected  dynamically;  with  no  appearance  of  weight  to 
his  body — as  though  he  had  Stockton's  negative-gravity 
machine  strapped  on  his  back. 

In  all  his  mountain-climbing  in  the  Sierras, 
the  Andes,  and  the  high  Himalayas,  he  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  dizzy,  even  when  stand- 
ing on  the  sheerest  precipice,  or  crossing  a 

21 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

crevasse  on  a  sliver  of  ice  above  an  abyss  of 
four  thousand  feet.  He  said  that  his  simple 
laws  of  health  gave  him  his  endurance  and  his 
steady  nerves;  but  when  we  think  of  the  wee 
laddie  in  Scotland,  hanging  from  the  roof  by 
one  finger,  or  balancing  himself  on  a  particu- 
larly sharp  crag  of  the  black  headland  at  Dun- 
bar,  we  believe  that  he  was  born  to  climb. 

"I  love  the  heights,"  he  said,  "where  the  air 
is  sweet  enough  for  the  breath  of  angels,  and 
where  I  can  feel  miles  and  miles  of  beauty  flow- 
ing into  me." 

He  never  ceased  to  marvel  at  the  people  who 
remained  untouched  in  the  presence  of  Nature 's 
rarest  loveliness.  "They  have  eyes  and  see 
not,"  he  mourned,  as  he  saw  some  sleek,  com- 
fortable tourists  pausing  a  moment  in  their  con- 
cern about  baggage  to  point  casually  with  their 
canes  to  the  Upper  Yosemite  Falls,  coming  with 
its  glorious  company  of  shimmering  comets  out 
of  a  rainbow  cloud  along  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and 
passing  into  another  cloud  of  glory  below. 

All  of  Mr.  Muir's  books — "The  Mountains  of 
California,"  "Our  National  Parks,"  "My  First 
Summer  in  the  Sierra,"  and  "The  Yosemite" — 

22 


JOHN  MUIR 

are  splendid  invitations  to  "  climb  the  moun- 
tains and  get  their  good  tidings."  " Climb,  if 
you  would  see  beauty!"  every  page  cries  out. 
"If  I  can  give  you  a  longing  that  will  take  you 
out  of  your  rocking-chairs  and  make  you  willing 
to  forego  a  few  of  your  so-called  comforts  for 
something  infinitely  more  worth  while,  I  shall 
have  fulfilled  my  mission." 

Bead  his  story  of  his  ride  on  the  avalanche 
from  a  ridge  three  thousand  feet  high,  where 
he  had  climbed  to  see  the  valley  in  its  garment 
of  newly-fallen  snow.  The  ascent  took  him 
nearly  all  day,  the  descent  about  a  minute. 
When  he  felt  himself  going,  he  instinctively 
threw  himself  on  his  back,  spread  out  his  arms 
to  keep  from  sinking,  and  found  his  "flight  in 
the  milky  way  of  snow-stars  the  most  spiritual 
and  exhilarating  of  all  modes  of  motion." 

In  "The  Yosemite,"  also,  we  learn  how  a  true 
nature-lover  can  meet  the  terrors  of  an  earth- 
quake. He  was  awakened  at  about  two  o'clock 
one  moonlit  morning  by  a  "strange,  thrilling 
motion,"  and  exalted  by  the  certainty  that  he 
was  going  to  find  the  old  planet  off  guard  and 
learn  something  of  her  true  nature,  he  rushed 

23 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

out  while  the  ground  was  rocking  so  that  he  had 
to  balance  himself  as  one  does  on  shipboard  dur- 
ing a  heavy  sea.  He  saw  Eagle  Rock  fall  in  a 
thousand  boulder-fragments,  while  all  the  thun- 
der he  had  ever  heard  was  condensed  in  the  roar 
of  that  moment  when  it  seemed  that ' '  the  whole 
earth  was,  like  a  living  creature,  calling  to  its 
sister  planets." 

"Come,  cheer  up!"  he  cried  to  a  panic- 
stricken  man  who  felt  that  the  ground  was  about 
to  swallow  him  up;  "smile  and  clap  your  hands 
now  that  kind  Mother  Earth  is  trotting  us  on 
her  knee  to  amuse  us  and  make  us  good." 

He  studied  the  earthquake  as  he  studied  the 
glaciers,  the  scarred  cliffs,  and  the  flowers,  and 
this  is  the  lesson  that  it  taught  him : 

All  Nature's  wildness  tells  the  same  story :  the  shocks  and 
outbursts  of  earthquakes,  volcanoes,  geysers,  roaring  waves, 
and  floods,  the  silent  uprush  of  sap  in  plants,  storms  of 
every  sort — each  and  all,  are  the  orderly,  beauty-making 
love-beats  of  Nature's  heart. 

Read  about  his  adventure  in  a  storm  on  the 
Alaska  glacier  with  the  little  dog,  Stickeen. 
You  will  note  that  he  had  eyes  not  only  for  the 
ice-cliffs  towering  above  the  dark  forest  and 

24 


John    Muir    and    John    Burroughs    in    the    Yoseinito 
Valley 


JOHN  MUIR 

for  the  mighty  glacier  with  its  rushing  white 
fountains,  but  also  for  the  poor  "beastie"  who 
was  leaving  blood-prints  on  the  ice  when  the 
man  stopped  to  make  him  moccasins  out  of  his 
handkerchief.  As  you  read  you  will  not  won- 
der that  this  man  who  could  write  about  Na- 
ture 's  loftiest  moods  could  also  write  that  most 
beautiful  and  truly  sympathetic  of  all  stories  of 
dog  life. 

The  last  years  of  John  Muir's  long  career 
were,  like  the  rest,  part  of  * '  the  glorious  botani- 
cal and  geological  excursion,"  on  which  he  set 
out  when  he  left  college.  The  names  that  he 
won — "John  o*  Mountains,'*  "The  Psalmist  of 
the  Sierra, "  « '  The  Father  of  the  Yosemite '  '—all 
speak  of  his  work.  Remembering  that  he  found 
his  fullest  joy  in  climbing  to  the  topmost  peaks, 
we  have  called  him  "The  Laird  of  Sky  land." 
Going  to  the  mountains  was  going  home,  he  said. 

The  Muir  Woods  of  "big  trees"  near  San 
Francisco  and  Muir  Glacier  in  Alaska  are  fit- 
ting monuments  to  his  name  and  fame.  But  the 
real  man  needs  no  memorial.  For  when  we  visit 
the  glorious  Yosemite,  which  his  untiring  ef- 
forts won  for  us  and  which  his  boundless  en- 

27 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

thusiasm  taught  us  rightly  to  appreciate,  we 
somehow  feel  that  the  spirit  of  John  Muir  is 
still  there,  in  the  beauty  that  he  loved,  bidding 
us  welcome  and  giving  us  joy  in  the  freedom  of 
the  heights. 


28 


THE  SEER  OF  WOODCHUCK  LODGE: 
JOHN  BURROUGHS 


In  every  man's  life  we  may  read  some  lesson.  What 
may  be  read  in  mine?  If  I  see  myself  correctly,  it  is  this: 
that  the  essential  things  are  always  at  hand ;  that  one's  own 
door  opens  upon  the  wealth  of  heaven  and  earth;  and  that 
all  things  are  ready  to  serve  and  cheer  one.  Life  is  a  strug- 
gle, but  not  a  warfare;  it  is  a  day's  labor,  but  labor  on 
God's  earth,  under  the  sun  and  stars  with  other  laborers, 
where  we  may  think  and  sing  and  rejoice  as  we  work. 

JOHN  BURROUGHS. 


THE  SEER  OF  WOODCHUCK  LODGE 

SOME  farm-boys  were  having  a  happy  Sun- 
day in  the  woods  gathering  black  birch  and 
wintergreens.  As  they  lay  on  the  cool  moss, 
lazily  tasting  the  spicy  morsels  they  had  found 
and  gazing  up  at  the  patches  of  blue  sky  through 
the  beeches,  one  of  the  boys  caught  sight  of  a 
small,  bluish  bird,  with  an  odd  white  spot  on 
its  wing,  as  it  flashed  through  the  trembling 
leaves.  In  a  moment  it  was  gone,  but  the  boy 
was  on  his  feet,  looking  after  it  with  eyes  that 
had  opened  on  a  new  world. 

So  "Deacon  Woods, "  the  old  familiar  play- 
ground that  he  thought  he  knew  so  well,  where 
blue-jays,  woodpeckers,  and  yellow-birds  were 
every-day  companions,  contained  wonders  of 
which  he  had  never  dreamed.  The  older  broth- 
ers knew  nothing  and  cared  nothing  about  the 
unknown  bird.  What  difference  did  it  make, 
anyway?  But  the  little  lad  of  seven  who  fol- 
lowed its  flight  with  startled,  wondering  eyes 

31 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

seemed  to  have  been  born  again.  His  eyes  were 
opened  to  many  things  that  had  not  existed  for 
him  before. 

Do  you  remember  the  story  of  the  monk  of 
long  ago  who,  while  copying  in  his  cell  a  page 
from  the  Holy  Book,  chanced  to  ponder  on  the 
words  that  tell  us  that  a  thousand  years  in  God's 
sight  are  but  as  a  day?  As  the  monk  wondered 
and  doubted  how  such  a  thing  might  be,  he  heard 
through  his  window  the  song  of  a  strange,  beau- 
tiful bird,  and  followed  it  through  the  garden 
into  the  woods  beyond.  Wandering  on  and 
listening,  with  every  sense  alive  to  the  delights 
about  him,  it  seemed  that  he  had  spent  the  hap- 
piest hour  he  had  ever  known.  But  when  he 
returned  to  his  monastery,  he  found  himself  a 
stranger  in  a  place  that  had  long  forgotten  him. 
He  had  been  wandering  for  a  hundred  years  in 
the  magic  wood,  listening  to  the  song  of  the 
wonderful  bird. 

In  somewhat  the  same  way  John  Burroughs 
followed  where  the  gleam  of  the  little  bluish 
warbler  led  him  through  woods  and  fields  for 
more  than  seventy  years.  That  is  why  Time 
missed  him  out  of  the  great  reckoning.  One 

32 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

who  listens  to  the  song  of  life  knows  nothing 
of  age  or  change.  So  it  is  that  the  boy  John 
never  slipped  away  from  Burroughs,  the  man. 
So  it  is  that  the  Seer  of  Woodchuck  Lodge  is 
eighty  years  young. 

Do  you  know  what  it  means  to  be  a  seer?  A 
seer  is  one  who  has  seeing  eyes  which  clearly 
note  and  comprehend  what  most  people  pass  a 
hundred  times  nor  care  to  see.  He  looks,  too, 
through  the  outer  shell  or  appearance  of  things, 
and  learns  to  read  something  of  their  hidden 
meaning.  He  has  sight,  then,  and  also  insight. 
He  looks  with  his  physical  eyes  and  also  with 
the  eyes  of  the  mind  and  spirit. 

We  always  think  of  a  seer  as  an  old  man,  but 
little  John  Burroughs — John  o'  Birds,  as  some 
one  has  called  him — began  to  be  ' '  an  eye  among 
the  blind"  that  Sunday  in  the  woods  when  he 
was  a  lad  of  seven.  He  led  a  new,  charmed  life 
as  he  weeded  the  garden  and  later  plowed  the 
fields.  He  saw  and  heard  life  thrilling  about 
him  on  every  side,  and  all  that  he  saw  became 
part  of  his  own  life.  He  drank  in  the  joy  of  the 
bobolink  and  the  song-sparrow  with  the  air  he 
breathed,  as  the  warm  sunshine  and  good,  earth 

33 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

smell  of  the  freshly  turned  furrow  entered  at 
every  pore. 

Another  day  almost  as  memorable  as  that 
which  brought  the  flash  of  the  strange  bird  was 
the  one  which  gave  him  a  glimpse  into  the  un- 
explored realm  of  ideas.  A  lady  visiting  at  the 
farm-house  noticed  a  boyish  drawing  of  his,  and 
said,  "  What  taste  that  boy  has !"  Taste,  then, 
might  belong  to  something  besides  the  food  that 
one  took  into  one 's  mouth.  It  seemed  that  there 
were  new  worlds  of  words — and  thoughts — of 
which  his  farmer  folk  little  dreamed. 

Again,  one  day  when  watching  some  road- 
makers  down  by  the  school-house  turn  up  some 
flat  stones,  he  heard  a  man  standing  by  exclaim, 
"Ah,  here  we  have,  perhaps,  some  antiquities !" 
Antiquities!  How  the  word  rang  in  his  fancy 
for  days !  Oh,  the  magic  lure  of  the  world  of 
words ! 

It  seemed  that  school  and  books  might  give 
him  the  freedom  of  that  world.  He  went  to  the 
district  school  at  Boxbury,  New  York,  summers 
until  he  was  ten,  when  his  help  was  needed  on 
the  farm.  After  that,  he  was  permitted  to  go 
only  during  the  winters.  In  many  ways  he  was 

34 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

the  odd  one  of  the  family,  and  his  unaccountable 
interest  in  things  that  could  never  profit  a 
farmer  often  tried  the  patience  of  his  hard-work- 
ing father. 

One  day  the  boy  asked  for  money  to  buy  an 
algebra.  What  was  an  algebra,  anyway,  and 
why  should  this  queer  lad  be  demanding  things 
that  his  father  and  brothers  had  never  had! 
John  got  the  algebra,  and  other  precious  books 
beside,  but  he  earned  the  money  himself  by  sell- 
ing maple  sugar.  He  knew  when  April  had 
stirred  the  sap  in  the  sugar-bush  a  week  or  more 
before  any  one  else  came  to  tap  the  trees,  and 
his  early  harvest  always  found  a  good  market. 

And  what  a  joyous  time  April  was!  "I 
think  April  is  the  best  month  to  be  born  in,"  said 
John  Burroughs.  "One  is  just  in  time,  so  to 
speak,  to  catch  the  first  train,  which  is  made  up 
in  this  month.  My  April  chickens  are  always 
the  best.  .  .  .  Then  are  heard  the  voices  of 
April — arriving  birds,  the  elfin  horn  of  the  first 
honey-bee  venturing  abroad  in  the  middle  of  the 
day,  the  clear  piping  of  the  little  frogs  in  the 
marshes  at  sun-down,  the  camp-fire  in  the  sugar- 
bush,  the  smoke  seen  afar  rising  from  the  trees, 

35 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

the  tinge  of  green  that  comes  so  suddenly  on 
the  sunny  slopes.  April  is  my  natal  month,  and 
I  am  born  again  into  new  delight  and  new  sur- 
prises at  each  return  of  it.  Its  name  has  an 
indescribable  charm  to  me.  Its  two  syllables 
are  like  the  calls  of  the  first  birds — like  that  of 
the  phoebe-bird  or  of  the  meadow-lark." 

The  keen  joy  in  the  feel  of  the  creative  sun- 
light and  springing  earth — the  eager  tasting  of 
every  sight  and  sound  and  scent  that  the  days 
brought — were  not  more  a  part  of  his  own  throb- 
bing life  than  the  desire  to  know  and  understand. 
When  he  was  fifteen  he  had  the  promise  that 
he  might  go  to  the  academy  in  a  neighboring 
town.  That  fall,  as  he  plowed  the  lot  next  the 
sugar-bush,  each  furrow  seemed  to  mark  a  step 
on  the  way. 

When  the  time  drew  near,  however,  it  proved 
as  strange  and  unusual  a  desire  as  that  for  the 
algebra.  The  district  school  had  been  good 
enough  for  his  brothers.  So  he  put  his  disap- 
pointment behind  him  as  he  went  for  another 
winter  to  the  Roxbury  school.  "Yet  I  am  not 
sure  but  I  went  to  Harpersfield  after  all,"  said 
Mr.  Burroughs;  "the  long,  long  thoughts,  the 

36 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

earnest  resolve  to  make  myself  worthy,  the 
awakening  of  every  part  and  fiber  of  me,  helped 
me  on  my  way  as  far,  perhaps,  as  the  unattain- 
able academy  could  have  done. ' ' 

The  next  year  found  the  youth  of  seventeen 
teaching  a  country  school  for  eleven  dollars  a 
month  and  ' '  board  around. '  '  How  homesick  he 
felt  for  the  blue  hills  at  home,  for  the  old  barn, 
with  the  nests  of  the  swallows  and  phoebe-birds 
beneath  its  roof,  for  the  sugar-bush,  and  the 
clear,  laughing  trout-streams.  He  could  see  his 
mother  hurrying  through  her  churning  so  that 
she  might  go  berrying  on  the  sunny  slope  of  Old 
Clump,  and  he  knew  what  she  brought  back  with 
the  strawberries — dewy  dreams  of  daisies  and 
buttercups,  lilting  echoes  of  bobolinks  and 
meadow-larks. 

In  October  the  long  term  was  over  and  he 
went  home  with  nearly  all  his  earnings, — over 
fifty  dollars, — enough  to  pay  his  way  at  the 
Hedding  Literary  Institute  for  the  winter  term. 

In  the  spring  of  1855  he  went  to  New  York 
City  for  the  first  time,  hoping  to  find  a  position 
as  teacher.  He  was  not  successful  in  this  quest, 
but  the  trip  was  memorable  for  a  raid  on  the 

37 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

second-hand  book-stalls.  He  reached  home 
some  days  later  "with  an  empty  pocket  and  an 
empty  stomach,  but  with  a  bagful  of  books." 

Always  attracted  chiefly  to  essays,  the  works 
of  Emerson  influenced  him  greatly.  He  ab- 
sorbed their  spirit  as  naturally  and  completely 
as  he  had  absorbed  the  sights  and  sounds  of  his 
native  hill-country.  His  first  article — an  essay 
called  "Expression,"  which  was  printed  with- 
out signature  in  The  Atlantic  Monthly — was 
by  many  attributed  to  Emerson.  Lowell,  who 
was  at  that  time  editor  of  The  Atlantic,  told, 
with  much  amusement,  that  before  accepting  the 
contribution  he  had  looked  through  all  of  Emer- 
son's works  expecting  to  find  it  and  confound 
this  plagiarizing  Burroughs  with  a  proof  of  his 
rascality. 

While  teaching  school  near  West  Point  he 
one  day  found,  in  the  library  of  the  Military 
Academy,  a  volume  of  Audubon — and  entered 
upon  his  kingdom.  Here  was  a  complete  chart 
of  that  bird  world  which  he  had  never  ceased 
to  long  to  explore  since  that  memorable  day 
when  he  had  seen  the  little  blue  warbler.  There 
was  time,  too,  for  long  walks,  time  to  live  with 

38 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

the  birds — to  revive  old  ties  as  well  as  to  make 
new  friends. 

In  speaking  of  his  study  of  the  birds,  Mr. 
Burroughs  once  said: 

''What  joy  the  birds  have  brought  me !  How 
they  have  given  me  wings  to  escape  the  tedious 
and  deadly.  Studied  the  birds!  No,  I  have 
played  with  them,  camped  with  them,  summered 
and  wintered  with  them.  My  knowledge  of  them 
has  come  to  me  through  the  pores  of  my  skin, 
through  the  air  I  have  breathed,  through  the 
soles  of  my  feet,  through  the  twinkle  of  the 
leaves  and  the  glint  of  the  waters." 

At  once  he  felt  a  longing  to  write  something  of 
the  joy  he  was  gaining  through  this  comrade- 
ship with  his  feathered  friends.  There  was 
nothing  that  spoke  of  Emerson  or  any  other 
model  in  his  pages  now.  He  had  found  his  own 
path.  He  was  following  the  little  blue  bird  into 
a  world  of  his  own. 

A  chance  came  to  go  to  Washington  to  live. 
For  several  years,  while  working  as  a  clerk  in 
the  Treasury,  he  spent  all  his  spare  moments 
with  the  birds.  He  knew  what  nests  were  to 
be  found  near  Rock  Creek  and  along  Piney 

39 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

Branch.  It  seemed  that  he  heard  the  news  as 
soon  as  a  flock  of  northbound  songsters  stopped 
to  rest  for  a  day  or  two  in  the  Capitol  grounds. 
While  watching  a  vault  where  great  piles  of 
the  Nation's  gold  lay  stored,  he  lived  over  in 
memory  the  golden  days  of  his  boyhood  spent  in 
climbing  trees,  tramping  over  hills,  and  through 
grassy  hollows,  or  lying  with  half-shut  eyes  by 
the  brookside  to  learn  something  of  the  life- 
story  of  the  birds.  There  were  leisure  after- 
noons which  brought  no  duty  save  that  of  sit- 
ting watchful  before  the  iron  wall  of  the  vault. 
At  such  times  he  often  tried  to  seize  some  of  the 
happy  bits  that  memory  brought,  a  twig  here,  a 
tuft  there,  and  now  a  long,  trailing  strand — 
stray  scraps  of  observation  of  many  sorts — 
which  he  wove  together  into  a  nest  for  his  brood- 
ing fancy.  And  we,  too,  as  we  read  those  pages 
hear  the  "wandering  voice"  of  the  little  bird 
of  earth  and  sky,  who  wears  the  warm  brown 
of  one  on  his  breast  and  the  blue  of  the  other 
on  his  wings ;  we  see  the  dauntless  robin  a-tilt 
on  the  sugar-bush;  we  catch  the  golden  melody 
of  the  wood- thrush — and  "the  time  of  singing 
birds"  has  come  to  our  hearts.  He  has  not  only 

40 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

seeing  eyes,  but  an  understanding  heart,  this 
seer  and  lover  of  the  birds,  and  so  his  bits  of 
observation  have  meaning  and  value.  He 
called  the  book  in  which  these  various  bird- 
papers  were  gathered  together  * '  Wake  Robin, ' ' 
the  name  of  a  wild-flower  that  makes  its  ap- 
pearance at  the  time  of  the  return  of  the  birds. 

This  book  was  well  named,  not  only  because 
it  suggested  something  of  the  spirit  and  feeling 
of  the  essays,  but  also  because  it  was  the  herald 
of  several  other  delightful  volumes  such  as 
"Signs  and  Seasons, "  "Winter  Sunshine," 
"Birds  and  Poets." 

Do  you  remember  how  Emerson  says  in  his 
poem  "Each  and  All" 

I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  Heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough; 

I  brought  him  home  in  his  nest  at  even; 
He  sings  the  song,  but  it  cheers  not  now, 

For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky; 

He  sang  to  my  ear,  they  sang  to  my  eye. 

When  John  Burroughs  writes  about  the  birds, 
he  brings  with  their  life  and  song  the  feeling  of 
the  "perfect  whole" — the  open  fields,  the  wind- 
ing river,  the  bending  sky,  and  the  cool,  fra- 
grant woods.  For  he  always  gives,  with  the 

41 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

glimpses  of  nature  that  lie  culls,  something  of 
himself,  something  of  his  own  clear-seeing, 
open-hearted  appreciation. 

The  ten  years  spent  in  Washington  were 
memorable  not  only  for  his  first  success  as  a 
nature  writer,  but  also  for  the  experiences 
brought  through  the  Civil  War  and  his  friend- 
ship with  the  "good  gray  poet,"  Walt  Whit- 
man. Years  after,  Mr.  Burroughs  said  that  his 
not  having  gone  into  the  army  was  probably 
the  greatest  miss  of  his  life.  He  went  close 
enough  to  the  firing-line  on  one  occasion  to 
hear  "the  ping  of  a  rifle-bullet  overhead,  and 
the  thud  it  makes  when  it  strikes  the  ground. ' ' 
Surely  there  should  be  enough  of  the  spirit  of 
his  grandfather,  who  was  one  of  Washington's 
Valley  Forge  veterans,  to  make  a  soldier !  How 
well  he  remembered  the  old  Continental's  thrill- 
ing tales  as  they  angled  for  trout  side  by  side, 
graybeard  and  eager  urchin  of  nine!  How 
well  he  remembered  the  hair-raising  stories  of 
witches  and  ghosts  that  made  many  shadowy 
spots  spook-ridden.  He  had  learned  to  stand 
his  ground  in  the  woods  at  nightfall,  and  at  the 
edge  of  the  big  black  hole  under  the  barn,  and 

42 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

so  to  put  to  flight  the  specters  before  and  the 
phantoms  behind.  But  when,  that  night  on  the 
battle-field,  he  saw  a  company  of  blue-coated 
men  hurrying  toward  a  line  of  rifle-flashes  that 
shone  luridly  against  the  horizon,  he  concluded 
that  his  grandfather  had  "emptied  the  family 
powder-horn"  in  those  Revolutionary  days,  and 
that  there  was  no  real  soldier  stuff  in  the  grand- 
son. 

If  his  failure  to  enlist  in  the  army  was  the 
greatest  miss  of  his  life,  his  friendship  with 
Whitman  was  its  greatest  gain.  They  took  to 
the  open  road  together,  the  best  of  boon  com- 
panions, and  Burroughs  came  to  know  the  poet 
as  he  knew  the  birds.  His  essay  "The  Flight 
of  the  Eagle,"  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  and 
heartfelt  tributes  that  one  great  man  ever  paid 
another. 

One  should,  however,  hear  Mr.  Burroughs 
talk  about  the  poet  and  watch  his  kindling  en- 
thusiasm. He  had  been  teaching  us  how  to 
roast  shad  under  the  ashes  of  our  camp-fire  one 
day  when  a  chance  remark  put  him  in  a  remi- 
niscent mood.  We  all  felt  that  evening  as  if  we 
had  come  in  actual  touch  with  the  poet. 

43 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

"You  see,"  our  host  concluded,  "Whitman 
was  himself  his  own  best  poem — a  man,  take 
him  all  in  all.  Do  you  remember  how  George 
Eliot  said  of  Emerson,  'He  is  the  first  man  I 
have  ever  met'?  Many  people  felt  that  way 
about  Whitman." 

As  I  looked  at  Whitman's  friend  I  found  my- 
self thinking,  "Surely  here  is  a  man,  take  him 
all  in  all — a  man  in  whom  the  child's  heart,  the 
youth's  vision,  the  poet's  enthusiasm,  the  scien- 
tist's faithfulness,  and  the  thinker's  insight,  are 
all  wonderfully  blended." 

After  the  years  in  Washington,  his  work  as  a 
bank  examiner  made  Mr.  Burroughs  seek  a 
place  for  his  home  near  New  York  City.  The 
spot  selected  was  a  small  farm  on  the  Hudson, 
not  far  from  Poughkeepsie,  which  he  called 
Eiverby.  Here,  in  his  eager  delight  over  the 
planting  of  his  roof-tree,  he  helped,  so  far  as  his 
time  permitted,  in  the  building,  placing  many 
of  the  rough-hewn  stones  himself.  He  tells  with 
some  relish  a  story  of  the  Scotch  mason,  who,  on 
looking  back  one  evening  as  he  was  being  ferried 
across  to  his  home  on  the  east  shore  of  the  river, 
saw,  to  his  great  anger  another  man  at  work  on 

44 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

his  job.  Returning  in  fury  to  see  why  he  had 
been  supplanted,  he  surprised  the  owner  him- 
self in  the  act  of  putting  in  place  some  of  the 
stones  for  the  chimney. 

"Weel,  you  are  a  hahndy  mahn!"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

The  big  river  never  appealed  to  Mr.  Bur- 
roughs, however,  as  the  friendly  Pepacton  and 
the  other  silver-clear  streams  where  he  had 
caught  trout  as  a  boy.  It  brought  too  close  the 
noise  of  the  world,  the  fever  of  getting  and 
spending.  Besides,  its  rising  and  ebbing  tides, 
its  big  steamers  and  busy  tugs,  its  shad 
and  herring,  were  all  strange  to  him;  his 
boyhood  home  had  known  nothing  of  these 
things. 

He  built  for  himself  a  bark-covered  retreat 
some  two  miles  back  from  the  river  in  a  bowl- 
shaped  hollow  among  the  thickly  wooded  hills. 
"Slabsides,"  as  he  called  this  human  bird's- 
nest,  was  a  two-story  shack  of  rough-hewn  tim- 
bers. 

"One  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  life  is  to 
build  a  house  for  one's  self,"  he  said;  " there 
is  a  peculiar  satisfaction  even  in  planting  a  tree 

45 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

from  which  you  hope  to  eat  the  fruit  or  in  the 
shade  of  which  you  hope  to  repose.  But  how 
much  greater  the  pleasure  in  planting  the  roof- 
tree,  the  tree  that  bears  the  golden  apples  of 
hospitality.  What  is  a  man 's  house  but  his  nest, 
and  why  should  it  not  be  nest-like,  both  outside 
and  in,  snug  and  well-feathered  and  modeled 
by  the  heart  within!" 

Many  guests  climbed  the  steep,  rocky  trail  and 
enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  this  retreat,  among 
others  President  Eoosevelt  and  his  wife.  The 
naturalist,  whom  Colonel  Eoosevelt  affection- 
ately called  "Oom  John,"  cooked  the  dinner 
himself,  bringing  milk  and  butter  from  his  cave 
refrigerator,  broiling  the  chicken,  and  prepar- 
ing the  lettuce,  celery,  and  other  vegetables 
which  grew  in  the  rich  black  mold  of  the  hol- 
low. As  he  prepared  and  served  the  meal  with 
all  the  ease  of  a  practised  camper  there  was 
never  a  halt  in  the  talk  of  these  two  great  lovers 
of  the  outdoor  world.  If  the  poet-sage  who  de- 
plored that 

Things  are  in  the  saddle, 
And  ride  mankind 

could  have  spent  a  day  with  John  Burroughs,  he 

46 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

would  have  found  one  man,  at  least,  who  never 
knew  the  tyranny  of  possessions,  and  so  was 
never  possessed  by  them.  He  is  the  type  of  the 
sane,  happy  human  being  who,  while  journey- 
ing through  life,  has  taken  time  to  live  by  the 
way.  He  knows  the  enchanting  by-paths  of  ex- 
istence, the  friendly  trails  that  wind  over  mead- 
ows and  hills. 

"I  am  in  love  with  this  world,"  he  says;  "I 
have  nestled  lovingly  in  it.  It  has  been  home. 
I  have  tilled  its  soil,  I  have  gathered  its  har- 
vests, I  have  waited  upon  its  seasons,  and  al- 
ways have  I  reaped  what  I  have  sown.  While 
I  delved,  I  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  sky  over- 
head. While  I  gathered  its  bread  and  meat  for 
my  body,  I  did  not  neglect  to  gather  its  bread 
and  meat  for  my  soul." 

Though  the  whole  wide  out-of-doors  is  home 
to  John  Burroughs,  there  is  one  spot  that  is 
more  than  any  other  the  abiding-place  of  his 
affections.  This  is  the  country  of  his  childhood 
in  the  Catskills.  Here  he  spends  his  summers 
now  at  Woodchuck  Lodge,  a  cottage  about  half 
a  mile  from  the  old  homestead.  Here  he  is 
happy  in  a  way  that  he  can  be  nowhere  else. 

47 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

The  woods  and  fields  are  flesh  of  his  flesh,  the 
mountains  are  father  and  mother  to  him. 

A  day  with  John  Burroughs  at  Woodchuck 
Lodge  will  always  seem  torn  from  the  calendar 
of  ordinary  living,  a  day  apart,  free,  wholesome, 
and  untouched  by  petty  care.  His  world  is  in- 
deed "so  full  of  a  number  of  things"  that  all 
who  come  within  the  spell  of  its  serene  content 
are  "as  happy  as  kings." 

As  he  makes  whistles  of  young  shoots  of  dog- 
wood for  his  small  grandson  he  tells  of  his 
school-days,  when  necessity  taught  his  hand  the 
cunning  to  make  his  own  pens,  slate-pencils,  and 
ink-wells.  "And  they  were  a  very  good  sort, 
too,"  he  adds.  "Those  were  home-made  days. 
I  remember  my  homespun  shirts,  made  of  our 
own  flax,  yellow  at  first  and  as  good  as  ever 
hair-shirt  could  have  been  in  the  way  of  scratch- 
ing penance.  All  my  playthings  were  home- 
made. How  well  I  remember  my  trout-lines  of 
braided  horsehair,  and  the  sawmill  in  the  brook 
that  actually  cut  up  the  turnips,  apples,  and 
cucumbers  that  I  proudly  fed  it." 

"These,  too,  are  home-made  days  of  the  best 
sort,"  we  think  as  we  look  about  the  rustic  porch 

48 


JOHN  BURROUGHS 

and  chairs  made  of  silvery  birch,  and  at  the 
silver-haired  seer,  surrounded  by  his  grand- 
children and  the  friends  who  gather  about  him 
with  the  happy  feeling  of  being  most  entirely  at 
home. 

"You  like  my  chairs  with  the  bark  on?"  he 
says.  "It 's  a  sort  of  hobby  of  mine  to  see  how 
the  natural  forks  and  crooks  and  elbows  which 
I  discover  in  the  saplings  and  tree-boles  can  be 
coaxed  into  serving  my  turn  about  the  house, 
and  I  make  it  a  point  to  use  them  as  nearly  as 
possible  as  they  grow." 

We  sit  on  the  porch  at  his  feet,  watching  the 
chipmunks  frisk  along  the  fences  and  the  wood- 
chucks  creep  furtively  out  of  their  holes.  We 
do  not  speak  for  several  long  minutes,  because 
we  want  to  taste  the  quiet  life  he  loves  in  the 
heart  of  the  blue  hills.  We  fancy  that  we  can 
hear  in  the  twitter  of  the  tree-tops  a  clearly  un- 
derstood mingling  of  familiar  voices,  and  that 
we  feel  in  our  hearts  an  answering  echo  that 
proves  us  truly  akin  to  the  creatures  in  feathers 
and  fur. 

"Home  sights  and  sounds  are  best  of  all," 
says  our  friend,  as  he  gazes  across  at  the  purple 

49 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

shadows  on  Old  Clump.  "The  sublime  beauty 
of  the  Yosemite  touched  me  with  wonder  and 
awe,  but  when  I  heard  the  robin's  note  it  touched 
my  heart.  Bright  Angel  Creek  in  the  Grand 
Canon  found  its  way  into  the  innermost  recesses 
of  my  consciousness  in  the  moment  when  it  re- 
minded me  of  the  trout-stream  at  home." 

There  is  another  pause,  in  which  the  silver- 
clear  notes  of  the*  vesper-sparrow  come  to  us 
with  their  "Peace,  good  will  and  good  night." 

"I  think  I  am  something  like  a  turtle  in  the 
way  I  love  to  poke  about  in  narrow  fields,"  he 
adds  whimsically;  "but  why  should  I  rush  hither 
and  yon  to  see  things  when  I  can  see  constella- 
tions from  my  own  door-step?" 

And  so  it  is  indeed  true  that  the  Seer  of  Wood- 
chuck  Lodge  can  still  find  in  a  ramble  among 
his  own  hills  the  land  of  wonder  and  beauty 
which  he  found  as  a  boy  when  he  followed  the 
flash  of  the  unknown  bird,  and  in  the  glowing 
twilight  of  his  years,  with  eyes  that  look  into  the 
heart  and  meaning  of  things,  can,  from  his  door- 
step, trace  constellations  undreamed  of  by  day. 


50 


THE  DEEP-SEA  DOCTOR: 
WILFRED  GRENFELL 


As  the  bird  wings  and  sings, 

Let  us  cry,  "All  good  things 
Are  ours,  nor  soul  helps  flesh  more, 

Now,  than  flesh  helps  soul!" 

BROWNING. 


THE  DEEP-SEA  DOCTOR 

WHEN  people  meet  Dr.  Grenfell,  the  good 
doctor  who  braves  the  storms  of  the 
most  dangerous  of  all  sea-coasts  and  endures  the 
hardships  of  arctic  winters  to  care  for  the  lonely 
fisherfolk  of  Labrador,  they  often  ask,  with  pity- 
ing wonder : 

"How  do  you  manage  it,  Doctor,  day  in  and 
day  out  through  all  the  long  months  ?  It  seems 
too  much  for  any  man  to  sacrifice  himself  as 
you  do." 

" Don't  think  for  a  moment  that  I  'm  a  mar- 
tyr, "  replies  Dr.  Grenfell,  a  bit  impatiently, 
"Why,  I  have  a  jolly  good  time  of  it !  There  *s 
nothing  like  a  really  good  scrimmage  to  make 
a  fellow  sure  that  he  's  alive,  and  glad  of  it. 
I  learned  that  in  my  football  days,  and  Labrador 
gives  even  better  chances  to  know  the  joy  of 
winning  out  in  a  tingling  good  tussle. " 

Dr.  GrenfelPs  face,  with  the  warm  color  glow- 
ing through  the  tan,  his  clear,  steady  eyes,  and 
erect,  vigorous  form,  all  testify  to  his  keen  zest 

53 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

in  the  adventure  of  life.  Ever  since  he  could 
rememher,  he  had,  he  told  us,  been  in  love  with 
the  thrill  of  strenuous  action.  When  a  small 
boy,  he  looked  at  the  tiger-skin  and  other 
trophies  of  the  hunt  which  his  soldier  uncles  had 
sent  from  India,  and  dreamed  of  the  time  when 
he  should  learn  the  ways  of  the  jungle  at  first 
hand. 

He  comes  of  a  race  of  strong  men.  One  uncle 
was  a  general -who  bore  himself  with  distin- 
guished gallantry  in  the  Indian  Mutiny  at  Luck- 
now  when  the  little  garrison  of  seventeen  hun- 
dred men  held  the  city  for  twelve  weeks  against 
a  besieging  force  ten  times  as  great.  One  of  his 
father's  ancestors  was  Sir  Richard  Grenville, 
the  hero  of  the  Revenge,  who,  desperately  strug- 
gling to  save  his  wounded  men,  fought  with  his 
one  ship  against  the  whole  Spanish  fleet  of  fifty- 
three.  Perhaps  you  remember  Tennyson's 
thrilling  lines : 

And  the  stately  Spanish  men  to  their  flag-ship  bore  him 

then, 
Where  they  laid  him  by  the  mast,  old  Sir  Richard  caught 

at  last, 

And  they  praised  him  to  his  face  with  their  courtly  foreign 
grace; 

54 


Dr.  Wilfred  T.  CJrenfell 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

But  he  rose  upon  their  decks,  and  he  cried: 

"I  have  fought  for  Queen  and  Faith  like  a  valiant  man 

and  true; 

I  have  only  done  my  duty  as  a  man  is  bound  to  do; 
With  a  joyful  spirit  I,  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  die!" 

How  these  lines  sang  in  Ms  memory  I    Is 
it  any  wonder  that  the  lad  who  heard  this' 
story  as  one  among  many  thrilling  tales  of  his 
own  people  should  have  felt  that  life  was  a 
splendid  adventure? 

As  a  boy  in  his  home  at  Parkgate,  near  Ches- 
ter, England,  he  was  early  accustomed  to  stren- 
uous days  in  the  open.  He  knew  the  stretches 
of  sand-banks, — the  famous  " Sands  of  Dee," — 
with  their  deep,  intersecting  "gutters'*  where 
many  curlews,  mallards,  and  other  water-birds 
sought  hiding.  In  his  rocking  home-made  boat 
he  explored  from  end  to  end  the  estuary  into 
which  the  River  Dee  flowed,  now  and  again  hail- 
ing a  fishing-smack  for  a  tow  home,  if  evening 
fell  too  soon,  and  sharing  with  the  crew  their 
supper  of  boiled  shrimps.  He  seemed  to  know 
as  by  instinct  the  moods  of  the  tides  and  storm- 
vexed  waves,  which  little  boats  must  learn  to 
watch  and  circumvent.  He  became  a  lover,  also, 
of  wild  nature — birds,  animals,  and  plants — 

57 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

and  of  simple,  vigorous  men  who  lived  rough, 
wholesome  lives  in  the  open. 

Though  he  went  from  the  boys '  school  at  Park- 
gate  to  Marlborough  College,  and  later  to  Ox- 
ford, he  had  at  this  time  no  hint  of  the  splendid 
adventures  that  life  offers  in  the  realm  of  mental 
and  spiritual  activities.  Eugby  football,  in 
which  he  did  his  share  to  uphold  the  credit  of  the 
university,  certainly  made  the  most  vital  part  of 
this  chapter  of  his  life.  It  was  not  until  he  took 
up  the  study  of  medicine  at  the  London  Hospital 
that  he  began  to  appreciate  the  value  of  knowl- 
edge " because  it  enables  one  to  do  things." 

There  was  one  day  of  this  study-time  in  Lon- 
don that  made  a  change  in  the  young  doctor's 
whole  life.  Partly  out  of  curiosity,  he  followed 
a  crowd  in  the  poorer  part  of  the  city,  into  a 
large  tent,  where  a  religious  meeting  was  being 
held.  In  a  moment  he  came  to  realize  that  his 
religion  had  been  just  a  matter  of  believing  as 
he  was  taught,  of  conducting  himself  as  did 
those  about  him,  and  of  going  to  church  on  Sun- 
day. It  seemed  that  here,  however,  were  men 
to  whom  religion  was  as  real  and  practical  a 
thing  as  the  rudder  is  to  a  boat.  All  at  once  he 

58 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

saw  what  it  would  mean  to  have  a  strong  guid- 
ing power  in  one  's  life. 

His  mind  seemed  wonderfully  set  free. 
There  were  no  longer  conflicting  aims,  ideals, 
uncertainties,  and  misgivings.  There  was  one 
purpose,  one  desire — to  enter  "the  service  that 
is  perfect  freedom,'*  the  service  of  the  King 
of  Kings.  Life  was  indeed  a  glorious  adven- 
ture, whose  meaning  was  plain  and  whose  end 
sure. 

How  he  enjoyed  his  class  of  unruly  boys  from 
the  slums !  Most  people  would  have  considered 
them  hopeless  "toughs."  He  saw  that  they 
were  just  active  boys,  eager  for  life,  who  had 
been  made  what  they  were  by  unwholesome 
surroundings.  "All  they  need  is  to  get  hold  of 
the  rudder  and  to  feel  the  breath  of  healthy  liv- 
ing in  their  faces,"  he  said.  He  fitted  up  one 
of  his  rooms  with  gymnasium  material  and 
taught  the  boys  to  box.  He  took  them  for  out- 
ings into  the  country.  When  he  saw  the  way 
they  responded  to  this  little  chance  for  happy 
activity,  he  became  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
Lads'  Brigades  and  Lads'  Camps,  which  have 
done  the  same  sort  of  good  in  England  that  the 

59 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

Boy  Scouts  organization  has  done  in  this  coun- 
try. 

When  he  completed  his  medical  course,  the 
young  doctor  looked  about  for  a  field  that  would 
give  chance  for  adventure  and  for  service  where 
a  physician  was  really  needed. 

"I  feel  there  is  something  for  me  besides 
hanging  out  my  sign  in  a  city  where  there  are 
already  doctors  and  to  spare,"  he  said. 

"Why  don't  you  see  what  can  be  done  with  a 
hospital-ship  among  the  North  Sea  fishermen !" 
said  Sir  Frederick  Treves,  who  was  a  great  sur- 
geon and  a  master  mariner  as  well. 

When  Dr.  Grenfell  heard  about  how  sick  and 
injured  men  suffered  for  lack  of  care  when  on 
their  long  fishing-expeditions,  he  decided  to  fall 
in  with  this  suggestion.  He  joined  the  staff  of 
the  Mission  to  Deep-sea  Fishermen,  and  fitted 
out  the  first  hospital-ship  to  the  North  Sea  fish- 
eries, which  cruised  about  from  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay to  Iceland,  giving  medical  aid  where  it 
was  often  desperately  needed. 

When  this  work  was  well  established,  and 
other  volunteers  offered  to  take  it  up,  Dr.  Gren- 
fell sought  a  new  world  of  adventure.  Hearing 

60 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

of  the  forlorn  condition  of  the  English-speaking 
settlers  and  natives  on  the  remote  shores  of 
wind-swept  Labrador,  he  resolved  to  fit  out  a 
hospital-ship  and  bring  them  what  help  he  could. 
So  began  in  1892  Dr.  Grenf ell's  great  work  with 
his  schooner  Albert,  in  which  he  cruised  about 
for  three  months  and  ministered  to  nine  hun- 
dred patients,  who,  but  for  him,  would  have  had 
no  intelligent  care. 

Can  you  picture  Labrador  as  something  more 
than  a  pink  patch  on  the  cold  part  of  the  map? 
That  strip  of  coast  northwest  of  Newfoundland 
is  a  land  of  sheer  cliffs  broken  by  deep  fiords, 
like  much  of  Norway.  Rocky  islands  and  hid- 
den reefs  make  the  shores  dangerous  to  ships 
in  the  terrific  gales  that  are  of  frequent  occur- 
rence. But  this  forbidding,  wreck-strewn  land 
of  wild,  jutting  crags  has  a  weird  beauty  of  its 
own.  Picture  it  in  winter  when  the  deep  snow 
has  effaced  all  inequalities  of  surface  and  the 
dark  spruces  alone  stand  out  against  the  gleam- 
ing whiteness.  The  fiords  and  streams  are 
bound  in  an  icy  silence  which  holds  the  sea  itself 
in  thrall.  Think  of  the  colors  of  the  moonlight 
on  the  ice,  and  the  flaming  splendor  of  the  north- 

61 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ern  lights.  Then  picture  it  when  summer  has 
unloosed  the  land  from  the  frozen  spell. 
Mosses,  brilliant  lichens,  and  bright  berries 
cover  the  rocky  ground,  the  evergreens  stand 
in  unrivaled  freshness,  and  gleaming  trout  and 
salmon  dart  out  of  the  water,  where  great  ice- 
bergs go  floating  by  like  monster  fragments  of 
the  crystal  city  of  the  frost  giants,  borne  along 
now  by  the  arctic  current  to  tell  the  world  about 
the  victory  of  the  sun  over  the  powers  of  cold 
in  the  far  North. 

When  Dr.  Grenfell  sailed  about  in  the  Albert 
that  first  summer,  the  people  thought  he  was 
some  strange,  big-hearted  madman,  who  bore  a 
charmed  life.  He  seemed  to  know  nothing  and 
care  nothing  about  foamy  reefs,  unfamiliar 
tides  and  currents,  and  treacherous  winds. 
When  it  was  impossible  to  put  out  in  the 
schooner,  he  went  in  a  whale-boat,  which  was 
worn  out — honorably  discharged  from  service — 
after  a  single  season.  The  people  who  guarded 
the  lives  of  their  water-craft  with  jealous  care 
shook  their  heads.  Truly,  the  man  must  be 
mad.  His  boat  was  capsized,  swamped,  blown 
on  the  rocks,  and  once  driven  out  to  sea  by  a  gale 

62 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

that  terrified  the  crew  of  the  solidly  built  mail- 
boat.  This  time  he  was  reported  lost,  but  after 
a  few  days  he  appeared  in  the  harbor  of  St. 
John's,  face  aglow,  and  eyes  fairly  snapping 
with  the  zest  of  the  conflict. 

"Sure,  the  Lord  must  kape  an  eye  on  that 
man,"  said  an  old  skipper,  devoutly. 

It  was  often  said  of  a  gale  on  the  Labrador 
coast,  "That 's  a  wind  that  '11  bring  Gren- 
fell."  The  doctor,  impatient  of  delays,  and 
feeling  the  same  exhilaration  in  a  good  stiff 
breeze  that  a  lover  of  horses  feels  in  managing  a 
spirited  thoroughbred,  never  failed  to  make  use 
of  a  wind  that  might  help  send  him  on  his  way. 

What  sort  of  people  are  these  to  whom  Dr. 
Grenfell  ministers?  They  are,  as  you  might 
think,  simple,  hardy  men,  in  whom  ceaseless 
struggle  against  bleak  conditions  of  life  has  de- 
veloped strength  of  character  and  capacity  to 
endure.  Besides  the  scattered  groups  of  Eski- 
mos in  the  north,  who  live  by  hunting  seal  and 
walrus,  and  the  Indians  who  roam  the  interior 
in  search  of  furs,  there  are  some  seven  or  eight 
thousand  English-speaking  inhabitants  widely 
scattered  along  the  coast.  In  summer  as  many 

63 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

as  thirty  thousand  fishermen  are  drawn  from 
Newfoundland  and  Nova  Scotia  to  share  in  the 
profit  of  the  cod-  and  salmon-fisheries.  All  of 
these  people  were  practically  without  medical 
care  before  Dr.  Grenfell  came.  Can  you  imag- 
ine what  this  meant?  This  is  the  story  of  one 
fisherman  in  his  own  words : 

"I  had  a  poisoned  finger.  It  rose  up  and  got 
very  bad.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  so  I  took 
a  passage  on  a  schooner  and  went  to  Halifax. 
It  was  nine  months  before  I  was  able  to  get  back, 
as  there  was  no  boat  going  back  before  the  win- 
ter. It  cost  me  seventy-five  dollars,  and  my 
hand  was  the  same  as  useless,  as  it  was  so  long 
before  it  was  treated. '  ' 

Another  told  of  having  to  wait  nine  days 
after  "shooting  his  hand"  before  he  could  reach 
a  doctor;  and  he  had  made  the  necessary  jour- 
ney in  remarkably  good  time  at  that.  He  did 
not  know  if  he  ought  to  thank  the  doctor  for 
saving  his  life  when  it  was  too  late  to  save  his 
hand.  What  can  a  poor  fisherman  do  without 
a  hand? 

The  chief  sources  of  danger  to  these  people 
who  live  by  the  food  of  the  sea  are  the  uncertain 

64 


. 


WILFEED  GRENFELL 

winds  and  the  treacherous  ice-floes.  When  the 
ice  begins  to  break  in  spring,  the  swift  currents 
move  great  masses  along  with  terrific  force. 
Then  woe  betide  the  rash  schooner  that  ventures 
into  the  path  of  these  ice-rafts !  For  a  moment 
she  pushes  her  way  among  the  floating  "pans" 
or  cakes  of  ice.  All  at  once  the  terrible  jam 
comes.  The  schooner  is  caught  like  a  rat  in  a 
trap.  The  jaws  of  the  ice  monster  never  relax, 
while  the  timbers  of  the  vessel  crack  and  splin- 
ter and  the  solid  deck-beams  arch  up,  bow  fash- 
ion, and  snap  like  so  many  straws.  Then,  per- 
haps, the  pressure  changes.  With  a  sudden 
shift  of  the  wind  a  rift  comes  between  the  huge 
ice-masses,  and  the  sea  swallows  its  prey. 

It  is  a  strange  thing  that  but  few  of  the  fish- 
ermen know  how  to  swim.  "You  see,  we  has 
enough  o*  the  water  without  goin'  to  bother  wi' 
it  when  we  are  ashore,"  one  old  skipper  told 
the  doctor  in  explanation. 

The  only  means  of  rescue  when  one  finds  him- 
self in  the  water  is  a  line  or  a  pole  held  by 
friends  until  a  boat  can  be  brought  to  the  scene. 
Many  stories  might  be  told  of  the  bravery  of 
these  people  and  their  instant  willingness  to 

67 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

serve  each  other.  Once  a  girl,  who  saw  her 
brother  fall  through  a  hole  in  the  ice,  ran  swiftly 
to  the  spot,  while  the  men  who  were  trying  to 
reach  the  place  with  their  boat  shouted  to  her 
to  go  back.  Stretching  full  length,  however,  on 
the  gradually  sinking  ice,  she  held  on  to  her 
brother  till  the  boat  forced  its  way  to  them. 

Perhaps  the  most  terrible  experience  that  has 
come  to  the  brave  doctor  was  caused  by  the  ice- 
floes. It  was  on  Easter  Sunday  in  1908  when 
word  came  to  the  hospital  that  a  boy  was  very 
ill  in  a  little  village  sixty  miles  away.  The  doc- 
tor at  once  got  his  ' '  komatik, ' '  or  dog-sledge,  in 
readiness  and  his  splendid  team  of  eight  dogs, 
who  had  often  carried  him  through  many  tight 
places.  Brin,  the  leader,  was  the  one  who  could 
be  trusted  to  keep  the  trail  when  all  signs  and 
landmarks  were  covered  by  snow  and  ice. 
There  were  also  Doc,  Spy,  Jack,  Sue,  Jerry, 
Watch,  and  Moody — each  no  less  beloved  for 
his  own  strong  points  and  faithful  service. 

It  was  while  crossing  an  arm  of  the  sea,  a  ten- 
mile  run  on  salt-water  ice,  that  the  accident  oc- 
curred. An  unusually  heavy  sea  had  left  great 
openings  between  enormous  blocks  or  "pans" 

68 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

of  ice  a  little  to  seaward.  It  seemed,  however, 
that  the  doctor  could  be  sure  of  a  safe  passage 
on  an  ice-bridge,  that  though  rough,  was  firmly 
packed,  while  the  stiff  sea-breeze  was  making  it 
stronger  moment  by  moment  through  driving 
the  floating  pans  toward  the  shore.  But  all  at 
once  there  came  a  sudden  change  in  the  wind. 
It  began  to  blow  from  the  land,  and  in  a  moment 
the  doctor  realized  that  his  ice-bridge  had 
broken  asunder  and  the  portion  on  which  he 
found  himself  was  separated  by  a  widening 
chasm  from  the  rest.  He  was  adrift  on  an  ice- 
pan. 

It  all  happened  so  quickly  that  he  was  unable 
to  do  anything  but  cut  the  harness  of  the  dogs 
to  keep  them  from  being  tangled  in  the  traces 
and  dragged  down  after  the  sled.  He  found 
himself  soaking  wet,  his  sledge,  with  his  extra 
clothing,  gone,  and  only  the  remotest  chance  of 
being  seen  from  the  lonely  shore  and  rescued. 
If  only  water  had  separated  him  from  the  bank, 
he  might  have  tried  swimming,  but,  for  the  most 
part,  between  the  floating  pans  was  "slob  ice," 
that  is,  ice  broken  into  tiny  bits  by  the  grinding 
together  of  the  huge  masses. 

69 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

Night  came,  and  with  it  such  intense  cold  that 
he  was  obliged  to  sacrifice  three  of  his  dogs  and 
clothe  himself  in  their  skins  to  keep  from  freez- 
ing, for  coat,  hat,  and  gloves  had  been  lost  in  the 
first  struggle  to  gain  a  place  on  the  largest  avail- 
able "pan"  of  ice.  Then,  curled  up  among  the 
remaining  dogs,  and  so,  somewhat  protected 
from  the  bitter  wind,  he  fell  asleep. 

"When  daylight  came,  he  took  off  his  gaily- 
colored  shirt,  which  was  a  relic  of  his  football 
days,  and,  with  the  leg  bones  of  the  slain  dogs 
as  a  pole,  constructed  a  flag  of  distress.  The 
warmth  of  the  sun  brought  cheer ;  and  so,  even 
though  his  reason  told  him  that  there  was  but 
the  smallest  chance  of  being  seen,  he  stood  up 
and  waved  his  flag  steadily  until  too  weary  to 
make  another  move.  Every  time  he  sat  down 
for  a  moment  of  rest,  "Doc"  came  and  licked 
his  face  and  then  went  to  the  edge  of  the  ice,  as 
if  to  suggest  it  was  high  time  to  start. 

At  last  Dr.  Grenf  ell  thought  he  saw  the  gleam 
of  an  oar.  He  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes, 
which  were,  indeed,  almost  snow-blinded,  as  his 
dark  glasses  had  been  lost  with  all  his  other 
things.  Then — yes — surely  there  was  the  keel 

70 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

of  a  boat,  and  a  man  waving  to  him !  In  a  mo- 
ment came  the  blessed  sound  of  a  friendly  voice. 

Now  that  the  struggle  was  over,  he  felt  him- 
self lifted  into  the  boat  as  in  a  dream.  In  the 
same  way  he  swallowed  the  hot  tea  which  they 
had  brought  in  a  bottle.  This  is  what  one  of  the 
rescuers  said,  in  telling  about  it  afterward : 

"When  we  got  near  un,  it  didn't  seem  like  't 
was  the  doctor.  'E  looked  so  old  an'  'is  face 
such  a  queer  color.  'E  was  very  solemn-like 
when  us  took  un  an'  the  dogs  in  th'  boat.  Th' 
first  thing  'e  said  was  how  wonderfu'  sorry  'e 
was  o'  gettin'  into  such  a  mess  an'  givin'  we  th' 
trouble  o'  comin'  out  for  un.  Then  'e  fretted 
about  the  b'y  'e  was  goin'  to  see,  it  bein'  too 
late  to  reach  un,  and  us  to'  un  'is  life  was  worth 
more  'n  the  b'y,  fur  'e  could  save  others.  But 
'e  still  fretted." 

They  had  an  exciting  time  of  it,  reaching  the 
shore.  Sometimes  they  had  to  jump  out  and 
force  the  ice-pans  apart;  again,  when  the  wind 
packed  the  blocks  together  too  close,  they  had 
to  drag  the  boat  over. 

When  the  bank  was  gained  at  last  and  the 
doctor  dressed  in  the  warm  clothes  that  the 

71 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

fishermen  wear,  they  got  a  sledge  ready  to  take 
him  to  the  hospital,  where  his  frozen  hands  and 
feet  could  be  treated.  There,  too,  the  next  day 
the  sick  boy  was  brought,  and  his  life  saved. 

Afterward,  in  telling  of  his  experience,  the 
thing  which  moved  the  doctor  most  was  the  sac- 
rifice of  his  dogs.  In  his  hallway  a  bronze  tab- 
let was  placed  with  this  inscription : 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

THREE  NOBLE  DOGS 

MOODY 

WATCH 

SPY 

WHOSE  LIVES  WERE  GIVEN 
FOR  MINE  ON  THE  ICE 

APRIL  2 1ST,   1908 
WILFRED  GRENFELL 

In  his  old  home  in  England  his  brother  put  up 
a  similar  tablet,  adding  these  words,  "Not  one 
of  them  is  forgotten  before  your  Father  which  is 
in  heaven." 

Besides  caring  for  the  people  himself,  Dr. 
Grenfell  won  the  interest  of  other  workers — 
doctors,  nurses,  and  teachers.  Through  his  ef- 
forts, hospitals,  schools,  and  orphan-asylums 
have  been  built.  Of  all  the  problems,  however, 
with  which  this  large-hearted,  practical  friend 
of  the  deep-sea  fishermen  has  had  to  deal  in  his 

72 


WILFRED  GEENFELL 

Labrador  work,  perhaps  the  chief  was  that  of 
the  dire  poverty  of  the  people.  It  seemed  idle 
to  try  to  cure  men  of  ills  which  were  the  direct 
result  of  conditions  under  which  they  lived. 

When  the  doctor  began  his  work  in  1892  he 
found  that  the  poverty-stricken  people  were 
practically  at  the  mercy  of  unprincipled,  schem- 
ing storekeepers  who  charged  two  or  three 
prices  for  flour,  salt,  and  other  necessaries  of 
life.  The  men,  as  a  result,  were  always  in  debt, 
mortgaging  their  next  summer's  catch  of  fish 
long  before  the  winter  was  over.  To  cure  this 
evil,  Grenfell  opened  cooperative  stores,  run 
solely  for  the  benefit  of  the  fishermen,  and  es- 
tablished industries  that  would  give  a  chance  of 
employment  during  the  cold  months.  A  grant 
of  timberland  was  obtained  from  the  govern- 
ment and  a  lumber-mill  opened.  A  schooner- 
building  yard,  and  a  cooperage  for  making  kegs 
and  barrels  to  hold  the  fish  exported,  were  next 
installed. 

This  made  it  possible  to  gather  together  the 
people,  who  were  formerly  widely  scattered  be- 
cause dependent  on  food  gained  through  hunt- 
ing and  trapping.  This  made  it  possible,  too, 

73 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

to  carry  out  plans  for  general  improvement — 
schools  for  the  children  and  some  social  life. 
Two  small  jails,  no  longer  needed  in  this  capac- 
ity, were  converted  into  clubs,  with  libraries  and 
games.  Realizing  the  general  need  for  health- 
ful recreation,  the  doctor  introduced  rubber 
footballs,  which  might  be  used  in  the  snow.  The 
supply  of  imported  articles  could  not  keep  pace 
with  the  demand,  however.  All  along  the  coast, 
young  and  old  joined  in  the  game.  Even  the 
"Eskimo  women,  with  wee  babies  in  their  hoods, 
played  with  their  brown-faced  boys  and  girls, 
using  sealskin  balls  stuffed  with  dry  grass. 

Knowing  that  Labrador  can  never  hope  to  do 
much  in  agriculture,  as  even  the  cabbages  and 
potatoes  frequently  suffer  through  summer 
frosts,  the  doctor  tried  to  add  to  the  resources 
of  the  country  by  introducing  a  herd  of  rein- 
deer from  Lapland,  together  with  three  fam- 
ilies of  Lapps  to  teach  the  people  how  to  care 
for  them.  Reindeer  milk  is  rich  and  makes 
good  cheese.  Moreover,  the  supply  of  meat  and 
leather  they  provide  is  helping  to  make  up  for 
the  falling-off  in  the  number  of  seals,  due  to  un- 
restricted hunting.  The  transportation  af- 

74 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

forded  by  the  reindeer  is  also  important  in  a 
land  where  rapid  transit  consists  of  dog- 
sledges. 

Dr.  Grenfell  has  himself  financed  his  various 
schemes,  using,  in  addition  to  gifts  from  those 
whom  he  can  interest,  the  entire  income  gained 
from  his  books  and  lectures.  He  keeps  nothing 
for  himself  but  the  small  salary  as  mission  doc- 
tor to  pay  actual  living  expenses.  All  of  the  in- 
dustrial enterprises — cooperative  stores,  saw- 
mills, reindeer,  fox-farms,  are  deeded  to  the 
Deep-Sea  Mission,  and  become  its  property  as 
soon  as  they  begin  to  be  profitable. 

Would  you  like  to  spend  a  day  with  Dr.  Gren- 
fell in  summer,  when  he  cruises  about  in  his 
hospital-ship  three  or  four  thousand  miles  back 
and  forth,  from  St.  John's  all  along  the  Labra- 
dor coast?  You  would  see  what  a  wonderful 
pilot  the  doctor  is  as  he  faces  the  perils  of  hid- 
den reefs,  icebergs,  fogs,  and  storms.  You 
would  see  that  he  can  doctor  his  ship,  should  it 
leak  or  the  propeller  go  lame,  as  well  as  the 
numbers  of  people  who  come  to  him  with  every 
sort  of  ill  from  aching  teeth  to  broken  bones. 

Perhaps,  though,  you  might  prefer  a  fine, 
75 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

crisp  day  in  winter.  Then  you  could  drive  forty 
or  fifty  miles  in  the  komatik,  getting  off  to  run 
when  you  feel  a  bit  stiff  with  the  cold,  especially 
if  it  happens  to  be  uphill.  You  might  be 
tempted  to  coast  down  the  hills,  but  you  find 
that  dogs  can't  stand  that  any  more  than  horses 
could,  so  you  let  down  the  "drug"  (a  piece  of 
iron  chain)  to  block  the  runners.  There  is  no 
sound  except  the  lone  twitter  of  a  venturesome 
tomtit  who  decided  to  risk  the  winter  in  a  par- 
ticularly thick  spruce-tree.  Sometimes  you  go 
bumpity-bump  over  fallen  trees,  with  pitfalls 
between  lightly  covered  with  snow.  Sometimes 
the  dogs  bound  ahead  eagerly  over  smooth 
ground  where  the  only  signs  of  the  times  are 
the  occasional  tracks  of  a  rabbit,  partridge,  fox, 
or  caribou.  Then  how  you  will  enjoy  the  din- 
ner of  hot  toasted  pork  cakes  before  the  open 
fire,  after  the  excitement  of  feeding  the  raven- 
ous dogs  with  huge  pieces  of  frozen  seal-meat 
and  seeing  them  burrow  down  under  the  snow 
for  their  night's  sleep.  If  there  is  no  pressing 
need  of  his  services  next  morning,  the  doctor 
may  take  you  skeeing,  or  show  you  how  to  catch 
trout  through  a  hole  in  the  ice. 

76 


WILFRED  GRENFELL 

Winter  or  summer,  perhaps  you  might  come 
to  agree  with  Dr.  Grenfell  that  one  may  have 
"a  jolly  good  time"  while  doing  a  man's  work 
in  rough,  out-of-the-way  Labrador.  You  would, 
at  any  rate,  have  a  chance  to  discover  that  life 
may  be  a  splendid  adventure. 


77 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  HIS  SOUL: 
CAPTAIN  SCOTT 


One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 

Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 

To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. 

TENNYSON. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  HIS  SOUL 

WE  know  of  many  heroes — heroes  of  long 
ago,  whose  shining  deeds  make  the  past 
bright;  and  heroes  of  to-day,  whose  courage  in 
the  face  of  danger  and  hardship  and  whose 
faithful  service  for  others  make  the  times  in 
which  we  live  truly  the  best  times  of  all.  But 
should  you  ask  me  who  of  all  this  mighty  com- 
pany of  the  brave  was  the  bravest,  I  should  an- 
swer, Captain  Scott.  Some  one  has  called  his 
story,  "The  Undying  Story  of  Captain  Scott.'* 
Would  you  like  to  hear  it,  and  know  for  your- 
self why  it  is  that  as  long  as  true  men  live  this 
is  a  story  that  cannot  die  I 

Most  people  who  work  know  what  they  are 
working  for;  most  men  who  are  fighting  for  a 
cause  know  where  they  give*  their  strength  and 
their  lives.  The  explorer  alone  has  to  go  for- 
ward in  the  dark.  He  does  not  know  what  he 
will  find.  Only  he  hears  within  his  heart  the 
still  whisper:  " Something  hidden.  Go  and 
find  it."  And  he  believes  that  there  is  no  far 

81 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

place  of  the  earth  that  does  not  hold  some  truth, 
something  that  will  help  us  learn  the  secrets  of 
life  and  explain  much  that  puzzles  us  in  the 
world  to-day. 

When  the  explorer  has  once  begun  to  think 
and  wonder  about  the  great  unseen,  unknown 
countries,  where  man  has  never  journeyed,  the 
whisper  comes  again  and  again:  " Something 
hidden.  Go  and  find  it." 

People  sometimes  say  to  the  explorer, ' '  There 
is  no  sense  of  going  to  those  strange  lands 
where  you  cannot  live.  No  good  nor  gold  ever 
yet  came  from  No-Man's  Land." 

But  the  men  who  went  into  the  jungles  of 
darkest  Africa  said,  "As  long  as  there  is  some- 
thing hidden  we  must  go  to  find  it."  And  the 
men  who  went  into  the  still,  white,  frozen  lands 
of  the  North  said :  "There  is  no  truth  that  can 
stay  untouched.  When  we  know  the  secrets 
of  the  North  and  the  South,  we  shall  the  better 
understand  the  East  and  the  West." 

The  whisper,  "Something  hidden,"  came  to 
Robert  Falcon  Scott  when  he  was  a  little  boy 
in  Devonshire,  England.  Con,  as  he  was  called, 
never  tired  of  hearing  the  tales  of  Sir  Walter 

82 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

Raleigh,  and  of  Sir  Francis  Drake,  who  sailed 
the  seas  and  found  a  new  world  for  England 
and  sent  his  drum  back  to  Devon  where  it  was 
hung  on  the  old  sea-wall  to  show  that  the  great 
days  of  the  past  would  surely  live  again. 

"You  must  take  my  drum"  (Drake  said), 

"To  the  old  sea-wall  at  home, 
And  if  ever  you  strike  that  drum,"  he  said, 

"Why,  strike  me  blind,  I  '11  come ! 

"If  England  needs  me,  dead 

Or  living,  I  '11  rise  that  day ! 
I  '11  rise  from  the  darkness  under  the  sea 

Ten  thousand  miles  awayl" 

The  Devonshire  men  were  sure  that  the  brave 
spirit  of  Drake  would  come  back  in  some  true 
English  heart  whenever  the  time  of  need  came. 
They  even  whispered  when  they  told  how  Nel- 
son won  his  great  victory  at  Trafalgar, 

"It  was  the  spirit  of  Sir  Francis  Drake." 

When  Con  heard  these  tales,  and  the  stories 
of  his  own  father  and  uncles  who  were  captains 
in  England's  navy,  he  knew  it  was  true  that  the 
spirit  of  a  brave  man  does  not  die. 

Sometimes  when  he  was  thinking  of  these 
things  and  wondering  about  the  "something 
hidden"  that  the  future  had  in  store  for  him, 

83 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

his  father  would  have  to  call  him  three  or  four 
times  before  he  could  wake  him  from  his  dream. 
"Old  Mooney,"  his  father  called  him  then,  and 
he  shook  his  head. 

" Remember,  son,"  he  would  say,  "an  hour 
of  doing  is  better  than  a  life  of  dreaming.  You 
must  wake  up  and  stir  about  in  this  world,  and 
prove  that  you  have  it  in  you  to  be  a  man." 

How  do  you  think  that  the  delicate  boy,  with 
the  narrow  chest  and  the  dreamy  blue  eyes, 
whom  his  father  called  * '  Old  Mooney, ' '  grew  into 
the  wide-awake,  practical  lad  who  became,  a 
few  years  later,  captain  of  the  naval  cadets  on 
the  training  ship  Britannia? 

"I  must  learn  to  command  this  idle,  dreamy 
'Old  Mooney'  before  I  can  ever  command  a 
ship,"  he  said  to  himself.  So  he  gave  himself 
orders  in  earnest. 

When  he  wanted  to  lie  in  bed  an  extra  half 
hour,  it  was,  "Up,  sir!  'Up  and  doing,'  is  the 
word!"  And  out  he  would  jump  with  a  laugh 
and  a  cheer  for  the  new  day. 

When  he  felt  like  hugging  the  fire  with  a  book 
on  his  knees  he  would  say, ' '  Out,  sir !  Get  out 
in  the  open  air  and  show  what  you  're  made 

84 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

of!"  Then  he  would  race  for  an  hour  or  two 
with  his  dog,  a  big  Dane,  over  the  downs,  to 
come  back  in  a  glow  ready  for  anything.  And 
so  the  man  who  was  to  command  others  became 
master  of  himself.  There  came  a  time  when  a 
strong,  brave  man  was  needed  to  take  command 
of  the  ship  Discovery,  that  was  to  sail  over  un- 
explored seas  to  the  South  Pole.  And  Kobert 
Falcon  Scott,  then  a  lieutenant  in  the  royal  navy, 
who  had  long  dreamed  of  going  forth  where 
ships  and  men  had  never  been  and  find  the 
"something  hidden"  in  strange  far-off  lands, 
found  his  dream  had  come  true.  He  was  put  in 
command  of  that  ship. 

Three  years  were  spent  in  that  terrible  land 
where 

The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there, 

The  ice  was  all  around; 
It  cracked  and  growled,  and  roared  and  howled — 

in  the  fierce  winds  that  swept  over  those  great 
death-white  wastes. 

After  this  time  of  hardship  and  plucky  en- 
durance it  was  hard  to  have  to  return  without 
having  reached  the  South  Pole.  But  he  came 
back  with  so  much  of  deepest  interest  and  value 

85 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

to  report  about  the  unknown  country,  that  those 
who  had  given  their  money  to  provide  for  the 
expedition  said:  "The  voyage  has  really  been 
a  success.  Captain  Scott  must  go  again  under 
better  conditions  with  the  best  help  and  equip- 
ment possible." 

It  was  some  time,  however,  before  Captain 
Scott  could  be  spared  to  go  on  that  second  and 
last  voyage  to  the  South  Pole.  This  man  who 
knew  all  about  commanding  ships  and  men  was 
needed  to  help  with  the  great  battleships  of  the 
navy.  Five  years  had  passed  before  plans 
were  ready  for  the  greatest  voyage  of  all. 

When  it  was  known  that  Captain  Scott  was  to 
set  out'  on  another  expedition,  eight  thousand 
men  volunteered  to  go  as  members  of  the  party. 
It  was  splendid  to  think  how  much  real  interest 
there  was  in  the  work  and  to  know  how  much 
true  bravery  and  fine  spirit  of  adventure  there 
is  in  the  men  of  our  every-day  world,  but  it  was 
hard  to  choose  wisely  out  of  so  many  the  sixty 
men  to  make  up  the  party. 

They  needed,  of  course,  officers  of  the  navy, 
besides  Captain  Scott,  to  help  plan  and  direct, 
a  crew  of  able  seamen,  firemen,  and  stokers  to 

86 


Pl,,,t,,  k,i  llr-.i-n  tin*. 


Captain    Robert   F.   Scott 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

run  the  ship,  and  doctors  and  stewards  to  take 
care  of  the  men.  Besides  these,  they  wanted 
men  of  science  who  would  be  able  to  investigate 
in  the  right  way  the  plants,  animals,  rocks,  ice, 
ocean  currents,  and  winds  of  that  strange  part 
of  the  earth;  and  an  artist  able  to  draw  and 
to  take  the  best  kind  of  photographs  and  mov- 
ing pictures. 

The  ship  chosen  for  this  voyage  was  the 
Terra  Nova,  the  largest  and  strongest  whaler 
that  could  be  found.  Whalers  are  ships  used 
in  whale-fishing,  which  are  built  expressly  to 
make  their  way  through  the  floating  ice  of 
Arctic  seas. 

The  Terra  Nova  was  a  stout  steamer  carry- 
ing full  sail,  so  that  the  winds  might  help  in 
sending  her  on  her  way,  thus  saving  coal  when- 
ever possible.  The  great  difficulty  was,  of 
course,  the  carrying  of  sufficient  supplies  for  a 
long  time  and  for  many  needs. 

With  great  care  each  smallest  detail  was 
worked  out.  There  were  three  motor  sledges, 
nineteen  ponies,  and  thirty-three  dogs  to  trans- 
port supplies.  There  was  material  for  put- 
ting up  huts  and  tents.  There  were  sacks  of 

89 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

coal,  great  cans  of  oil  and  petrol  (gasoline) ;  and 
tons  of  boxes  of  provisions,  such  as  pemmican, 
biscuit,  butter,  sugar,  chocolate — things  that 
would  not  spoil  and  which  would  best  keep  men 
strong  and  warm  while  working  hard  in  a  cold 
country.  There  were  fur  coats,  fur  sleeping 
bags,  snow  shoes,  tools  of  all  sorts,  precious  in- 
struments, books,  and  many  other  things,  each 
of  which  was  carefully  considered  for  they 
were  going  where  no  further  supplies  of  any 
sort  were  to  be  had. 

On  June  15, 1910,  the  Terra  Nova  sailed  from 
Wales,  and  on  November  26  left  New  Zealand 
for  the  great  adventure. 

If  the  men  had  been  superstitious  they  would 
have  been  sure  that  a  troublous  time  was  ahead, 
for  almost  immediately  a  terrible  storm  broke. 
Great  waves  swept  over  the  decks,  the  men  had 
to  work  with  buckets  and  pumps  to  bale  out  the 
engine  room,  while  boxes  and  cases  went  bump- 
ing about  on  the  tossing  ship,  endangering  the 
lives  of  men  and  animals,  and  adding  to  the  noise 
and  terror  of  the  blinding,  roaring  tempest. 

But  through  it  all  the  men  never  lost  their 
spirits.  Scott  led  in  the  singing  of  chanties,  as 

90 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

they  worked  hour  after  hour  to  save  the  ship 
and  its  precious  cargo. 

At  last  they  came  out  on  a  calm  sea  where  the 
sun  shone  on  blue  waves  dotted  here  and  there 
with  giant  ice-bergs,  like  great  floating  palaces, 
agleam  with  magic  light  and  color,  beautiful 
outposts  of  the  icy  world  they  were  about  to 
enter. 

You  know  that  the  seasons  in  the  South  Arc- 
tic regions  are  exactly  opposite  to  ours.  Christ- 
mas comes  in  the  middle  of  their  summer — the 
time  of  the  long  day  when  the  sun  never  drops 
below  the  horizon.  Their  winter,  when  they  get 
no  sunlight  for  months,  comes  during  the  time 
we  are  having  spring  and  summer. 

It  was  Scott's  plan  to  sail  as  far  as  the  ship 
could  go  during  the  time  of  light,  build  a  com- 
fortable hut  for  winter  quarters,  then  go  ahead 
with  sledges  and  carry  loads  of  provisions,  leav- 
ing them  in  depots  along  the  path  of  their  jour- 
ney south,  which  was  to  begin  with  the  coming 
of  the  next  long  day. 

Patient  watchfulness,  not  only  by  the  man  in 
the  crow's  nest,  but  on  the  part  of  all  hands, 
was  needed  to  guide  the  ship  through  the  great 

91 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

masses  of  ice  that  pressed  closer  and  closer 
about,  as  if  they  longed  to  seize  and  keep  it  for- 
ever in  their  freezing  hold. 

At  last  in  January  they  came  within  sight  of 
Mt.  Terror,  a  volcano  on  Boss  Island,  which 
marked  the  place  where  they  must  land.  It  was 
strange  and  terrible,  but  most  beautiful,  to  see 
the  fire  rise  from  that  snowy  mountain  in  the 
great  white  world  they  had  come  to  explore. 
The  ship  could  go  no  farther  south  because 
there  stretched  away  from  the  shore  of  the 
island  the  great  Ice  Barrier,  an  enormous  ice 
cap  rising  above  the  sea  fifty  or  sixty  feet  and 
extending  for  150,000  square  miles. 

Scott  came,  you  remember,  knowing  well  what 
lay  before  him.  To  reach  the  South  Pole  he 
must  travel  from  his  winter  camp  on  Boss 
Island,  424  miles  over  the  barrier,  climb  125 
miles  over  a  monster  glacier,  and  then  push  his 
way  over  353  more  miles  of  rough  ice  on  a  lofty, 
wind-swept  plain.  The  whole  journey  south- 
ward and  back  to  the  winter  hut  covered  about 
1,850  miles. 

As  they  could  not  count  at  most  on  more  than 
150  days  in  the  year  when  marching  would  be 

92 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

possible,  this  meant  that  they  must  make  over 
ten  miles  a  day  during  the  time  of  daylight. 
Scott  knew  how  hard  this  must  be  in  that  land  of 
fierce  winds  and  sudden  blizzards,  when  the 
blinding,  drifting  snow  made  all  marching  out 
of  the  question.  But  there  was  nothing  of  the 
dreamer  about  him  now;  he  carefully  worked 
out  his  plans  and  prepared  for  every  emer- 
gency. 

After  finding  a  good  place  to  land  and  build 
the  hut  for  the  winter  camp  where  it  would  be 
sheltered  from  the  worst  winds,  they  spent  eight 
days  unloading  the  ship,  which  then  sailed  away 
along  the  edge  of  the  barrier  with  a  part  of  the 
men,  to  find  out  how  things  were  to  the  east  of 
them. 

Captain  Scott  and  his  men  had  an  exciting 
time,  I  can  tell  you,  carrying  their  heavy  boxes 
and  packing  cases  across  the  ice  to  the  beach. 
Great  killer  whales,  twenty  feet  long,  came 
booming  along  under  them,  striking  the  ice  with 
their  backs,  making  it  rock  dizzily  and  split  into 
wide  cracks,  over  which  the  men  had  to  jump  to 
save  their  lives  and  their  precious  stores. 

While  part  of  the  company  was  building  the 
93 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

hut  and  making  it  comfortable  for  the  long  dark 
winter,  Captain  Scott  and  a  group  of  picked  men 
began  the  work  of  going  ahead  and  planting 
stores  at  depots  along  the  way  south.  They 
would  place  fuel  and  boxes  of  food  under  canvas 
cover,  well  planted  to  secure  it  against  the  wind, 
and  mark  the  spot  by  a  high  cairn,  or  mound, 
made  of  blocks  of  ice.  This  mound  was  topped 
with  upright  skis  or  dark  packing  boxes,  which 
could  be  seen  as  black  specks  miles  away  in  that 
white  world.  At  intervals  along  the  trail  they 
would  erect  other  cairns  to  mark  the  way  over 
the  desert  of  snow.  Then  back  they  went  to  the 
hut  and  the  winter  of  waiting  before  the  march. 

How  do  you  suppose  they  spent  the  long  weeks 
of  darkness  ?  Why,  they  had  a  wonderful  time ! 
Each  man  was  studying  with  all  his  might  about 
the  many  strange  things  he  had  found  in  that 
land. 

Wilson,  who  was  Scott's  best  friend,  gave 
illustrated  lectures  about  the  water  birds  he 
had  found  near  there,  the  clumsy  penguins  who 
came  tottering  up  right  in  the  face  of  his  cam- 
era as  if  they  were  anxious  to  have  their  pic- 
tures taken.  He  had  pictures,  too,  of  their 

94 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

nests  and  their  funny,  floundering  babies. 
There  were  also  pictures  of  seals  peeping  up 
at  him  out  of  their  breathing-holes  in  the  ice, 
where  he  had  gone  fishing  and  had  caught  all 
sorts  of  curious  sea  creatures. 

Other  men  were  examining  pieces  of  rock  and 
telling  the  story  which  they  told  of  the  history 
of  the  earth  ages  and  ages  ago  when  the  land 
of  that  Polar  world  was  joined  with  the  conti- 
nents of  Africa  and  South  America.  Evans 
gave  lectures  on  surveying,  and  Scott  told  about 
the  experiences  of  his  earlier  voyage  and  ex- 
plained the  use  of  his  delicate  instruments. 

Of  course  they  took  short  exploring  trips 
about,  and  sometimes  when  the  moon  was  up, 
or,  perhaps,  in  the  scant  twilight  of  midday, 
they  played  a  game  of  football  in  the  snow. 

At  last  the  sun  returned,  and  the  time  came 
for  the  great  journey  about  the  first  of  Novem- 
ber, just  a  year  after  they  had  left  New  Zea- 
land. 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  it  was  proved 
that  the  motor  sledges  were  useless,  as  the  en- 
gines were  not  fitted  for  working  in  such  in- 
tense cold.  So,  sorrowfully  they  had  to  leave 

95 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

them  behind,  and  make  ponies  and  dogs  do  all 
the  work  of  hauling. 

Then  began  a  time  of  storms  when  blizzard 
followed  blizzard.  It  seemed  that  they  had  met 
the  wild  spirit  of  all  tempests  in  his  snowy  fast- 
ness, and  as  if  he  were  striving  to  prove  that 
the  will  of  the  strongest  man  must  give  way 
before  the  savage  force  of  wind  and  weather. 
But  there  was  something  in  the  soul  of  these 
men  that  could  not  be  conquered  by  any  hard- 
ship— something  that  would  never  give  up. 

11  The  soul  of  a  true  man  is  stronger  than  any- 
thing that  can  happen  to  him,"  said  Captain 
Scott. 

It  seemed  as  if  this  journey  was  made  to 
prove  that.  And  it  did  prove  it. 

Misfortune  followed  misfortune.  The  sturdy 
ponies  could  not  stand  the  dangers.  Some  of 
them  slipped  and  fell  into  deep  chasms  in  the 
ice;  others  suffered  so  that  the  only  kind  thing 
was  to  put  them  out  of  their  pain.  The  men 
went  along  then  up  the  fearful  climb  across  the 
glacier,  with  just  the  help  of  the  dogs  who 
pulled  the  sledges  carrying  provisions.  One  of 
the  men  became  very  ill,  which  delayed  them 

96 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

further.    And  ever  the  dreadful  wind  raged 
about  them. 

They  reached  a  point  about  170  miles  from 
the  Pole  on  New  Year's  day.  Here  Scott  de- 
cided to  send  two  members  of  his  party  back 
with  the  sick  man  and  the  dog  sledge.  They 
were,  of  course,  disappointed,  but  realized  it  was 
for  the  best. 

After  leaving  part  of  their  provisions  in  a 
new  depot  to  feed  them  on  the  way  back,  Captain 
Scott  and  four  men,  Wilson,  Gates,  Bowers,  and 
Evans,  went  on  the  last  march  to  the  Pole  with 
lighter  loads  which  they  dragged  on  a  hand 
sledge.  This  is  what  Scott  wrote  in  the  letter 
sent  back  by  his  men : 

*  *  A  last  note  from  a  hopeful  position.  I  think 
it 's  going  to  be  all  right.  We  have  a  fine  party 
going  forward  and  all  arrangements  are  going 
well." 

How  did  the  way  seem  to  the  men  who  still 
went  on  and  on,  now  in  the  awful  glare  of  the 
sun  on  the  glistening  ice,  now  in  the  teeth  of  a 
terrific  gale?  Here  are  some  lines  written  by 
Wilson  which  may  tell  you  something  of  what 
they  felt: 

97 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

The  silence  was  deep  with  a  breath  like  sleep 
As  our  sledge  runners  slid  on  the  snow, 

And  the  fateful  fall  of  our  fur-clad  feet 
Struck  mute  like  a  silent  blow. 

And  this  was  the  thought  the  silence  wrought, 

As  it  scorched  and  froze  us  through, 
For  the  secrets  hidden  are  all  forbidden 

Till  God  means  man  to  know. 
We  might  be  the  men  God  meant  should  know 

The  heart  of  the  Barrier  snow, 
In  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  glow, 

And  the  glare  from  the  glistening  floe, 
As  it  scorched  and  froze  us  through  and  through 

With  the  bite  of  the  drifting  snow. 

But  still  they  pushed  on  and  on,  carrying  sup- 
plies and  their  precious  instruments,  together 
with  the  records  of  their  observations  and  ex- 
periences, until  at  last  the  goal  was  reached. 

The  South  Pole  at  last!  But  here  after  all 
they  had  dared  and  endured  another  great  trial 
awaited  them  just  at  the  moment  of  seeming 
success.  There  at  the  goal  toward  which  they 
had  struggled  with  such  high  hopes  was  a  tent 
and  a  mound  over  which  floated  the  flag  of  Nor- 
way. The  Norse  explorer,  Amundsen,  had 
reached  the  Pole  first.  A  letter  was  left  telling 
of  his  work  of  discovery.  He  had  happened  on 
a  route  shielded  from  the  terrific  winds  against 

98 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

which  Scott  had  fought  his  way  mile  by  mile, 
and  had  arrived  at  the  Pole  a  month  earlier. 

Now,  indeed,  Scott  showed  that  "the  soul  of 
a  brave  man  is  stronger  than  anything  that  can 
happen  to  him."  Cheerfully  he  built  a  cairn 
near  the  spot  to  hold  up  their  Union  Jack,  which 
flapped  sadly  in  the  freezing  air  as  if  to  re- 
proach them  with  not  having  set  it  as  the  first 
flag  at  the  Farthest  South  of  the  earth.  Then 
before  they  started  back  with  the  news  of 
Amundsen 's  success,  Scott  wrote  these  lines  in 
his  diary: 

"Well,  we  have  turned  our  back  now  on  the 
goal  of  our  ambition  and  must  face  800  miles  of 
solid  dragging — and  good-by  to  most  of  the  day 
dreams." 

But  it  was  for  Scott  to  show  the  world  that 
defeat  might  be  turned  into  the  greatest  victory 
of  all.  When  you  hear  any  one  say  that  a  man 
is  too  weak  or  fearful  to  bear  hardship  and  ill- 
success  to  the  end,  think  of  Captain  Scott  and 
say, ' '  The  brave  soul  is  stronger  than  anything 
that  can  happen." 

On  he  struggled,  on  and  on,  though  delayed 
again  and  again  by  blizzards  that  raged  about 

99 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

in  the  most  terrible  fury  as  if  determined  to 
make  this  little  party  give  up  the  fight.  At  last 
they  came,  weak  and  nearly  frozen  (for  the  sup- 
plies of  food  and  fuel  had  run  short),  almost 
within  sight  of  a  provision  camp  where  com- 
fort and  plenty  awaited  them.  At  this  moment 
came  the  most  terrible  storm  of  all,  that  lasted 
for  more  than  a  week. 

One  morning  Lieutenant  Oates,  who  was  ill 
and  feared  that  his  friends  might  lose  their  last 
chance  of  reaching  safety  by  staying  to  care 
for  him,  walked  out  into  the  blizzard  with  these 
words : 

"I  am  just  going  outside  and  may  be  some 
time." 

Scott  wrote  that  they  "realized  he  was  walk- 
ing to  his  death  and  tried  to  dissuade  him,  but 
knew  it  was  the  act  of  a  brave  man  and  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman.  We  all  hope  to  meet  the  end 
with  a  similar  spirit,"  he  added. 

A  little  later  Scott  wrote  in  his  diary : 

11  Every  day  we  have  been  ready  to  start  for 
our  depot  eleven  miles  away,  but  outside  the 
door  of  the  tent  it  remains  a  scene  of  whirling 
drift.  I  do  not  think  we  can  hope  for  any  better 

100 


CAPTAIN  SCOTT 

things  now.  We  shall  stick  it  out  to  the  end, 
but  we  are  getting  weaker,  of  course,  and  the  end 
cannot  be  far." 

Eight  months  after  when  a  rescue  party  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  tent,  they  found  the 
bodies  of  Wilson  and  Bowers  lying  with  their 
sleeping  bags  closed  over  their  heads.  Near 
them  was  Captain  Scott,  with  the  flaps  of  his 
sleeping  bag  thrown  back.  Under  his  shoulder 
were  his  note-books  and  letters  to  those  at  home, 
which  he  had  written  up  to  the  very  last  when 
the  pencil  slipped  from  his  fingers.  His  thought 
in  dying  was  not  for  himself  but  for  those  that 
would  be  left  to  grieve. 

On  the  spot  where  they  died,  their  friends  left 
the  bodies  of  these  brave  men  covered  with  the 
canvas  of  their  tent,  and  over  them  they  piled 
up  a  great  cairn  of  ice  in  which  was  placed  a 
wooden  cross  made  of  snow-shoes.  On  the 
cross  were  carved  these  words  of  a  great  poet, 
which  no  one  better  than  Captain  Scott  had  made 
living  words : 

"To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. " 

Now  we  can  see  why  this  tale  of  Captain  Scott 
101 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

is  truly  an  undying  story.  As  long  as  true 
hearts  beat  those  words  will  find  an  echo,  and 
also  those  other  words  which  he  so  nobly  proved 
by  his  life  and  death : 

"The  soul  of  a  brave  man  is  stronger  than 
anything  that  can  happen  to  him. ' ' 


102 


A  MODERN  VIKING:  JACOB  BUS 


I  doubt  no  doubts:  I  strive,  and  shrive  my  clay; 
And  fight  my  fight  in  the  patient  modern  way. 

SIDNEY  LANIBIL 


WOULD  you  like  to  hear  about  a  viking  of 
our  own  time?  Listen  to  the  story  of 
this  Northman,  and  see  if  you  will  not  say  that 
the  North  Sea  country  can  still  send  forth  as 
staunch  and  fearless  men  as  those  who  sailed  in 
their  dragon  ships  the  " whale  roads"  of  the 
uncharted  seas,  found  a  new  world  and  forgot 
about  it  long  before  Columbus  dreamed  his 
dream. 

Near  the  Danish  coast  where  the  sea  and  the 
low-lying  fields  grapple  hand  to  hand  in  every 
storm,  and  where  the  waves  at  flood  tide  thun- 
der against  the  barrows  beneath  which  the  old 
vikings  were  buried,  is  the  quaint  little  town  of 
Eibe.  This  is  the  sea's  own  country.  It  seems 
as  if  the  people  here,  who  never  fear  to  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  have  scorned  to  pile 
up  dikes  between  them  and  their  greatest  friend, 
who  can,  in  a  moment  of  anger,  prove  their 
greatest  enemy.  It  is  as  if  they  said,  "We  are 

105 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

of  the  sea;  if  it  chooses  to  rise  up  against  us, 
who  are  we  to  say,  *  Thus  far  and  no  farther ! '  " 

There  was  a  boy  bora  in  this  town  whose  name 
was  Jacob  Eiis.  The  call  of  the  sea-birds  was 
the  first  sound  he  knew;  the  breath  of  the  sea 
was  like  the  breath  of  life  to  him.  On  bright, 
blue-and-gold  days  when  the  waves  danced  in 
rainbow  hues  and  scattered  in  snowy  foam,  his 
heart ' '  outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee. ' '  At 
evening,  when  the  sea-fogs  settled  down  over 
the  shore  and  land  and  water  seemed  one,  some- 
thing of  the  thoughtful  strength  and  patience  of 
that  brave  little  country  came  into  his  face. 

Many  changes  had  come  to  the  coast  since  the 
sea-rovers  of  old  pulled  their  pirate  galleys  on 
the  beach,  took  down  their  square,  gaily  striped 
sails,  and  gave  themselves  over  to  feasting  in 
the  great  mead-hall,  where  the  smoking  boar's- 
flesh  was  taken  from  the  leaping  flames  and 
seized  by  the  flushed,  triumphant  warriors, 
while  skalds  chanted  loud  the  joys  of  battle 
and  plunder.  The  quaint  little  town  where 
Jacob  Riis  lived  sixty-odd  years  ago  had  noth- 
ing but  the  broom-covered  barrows  and  the 
changeless  ocean  that  belonged  to  those  wild 

106 


times,  and  yet  it  was  quite  as  far  removed  from 
the  customs  and  interests  of  to-day. 

I  wish  that  I  could  make  you  see  the  narrow 
cobblestone  streets  over  which  whale-oil  lan- 
terns swung  on  creaking  iron  chains,  and  the 
quaint  houses  with  their  tiled  roofs  where  the 
red-legged  storks  came  in  April  to  build  their 
nests.  The  stillness  was  unbroken  by  the  snort 
of  the  locomotive  and  the  shrill  clamor  of  steam- 
boat and  steam  factory  whistles.  The  people 
still  journeyed  by  stagecoach,  carried  tinder- 
boxes  in  place  of  matches,  and  penknives  to 
mend  their  quill  pens.  The  telegraph  was  re- 
garded with  suspicion,  as  was  the  strange  oil 
from  Pennsylvania  that  was  taken  out  of  the 
earth.  Such  things  could  not  be  safe,  and  pru- 
dent people  would  do  well  to  have  none  of  them. 

In  this  town,  where  mill-wheels  clattered  com- 
fortably in  the  little  stream  along  which  roses 
nodded  over  old  garden  walls  and  where  night- 
watchmen  went  about  the  streets  chanting  the 
hours,  all  the  people  were  neighbors.  There 
were  no  very  rich  and  few  very  poor.  How 
Jacob  hated  the  one  ramshackle  old  house  by 
the  dry  moat  which  had  surrounded  the  great 

107 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

castle  of  the  mighty  Valdemar  barons  in  feudal 
days!  This  place  seemed  given  over  to  dirt, 
rats,  disease,  and  dirty,  rat-like  children. 
Jacob's  friends  called  it  Bag  Hall,  and  said  it 
was  a  shame  that  such  an  ugly,  ill-smelling  pile 
should  spoil  the  neighborhood  of  Castle  Hill, 
where  they  loved  to  play  among  the  tall  grass 
and  swaying  reeds  of  the  moat. 

Bag  Hall  came  to  fill  a  large  place  in  Jacob 's 
thoughts.  It  was  the  grim  shadow  of  his  bright 
young  world.  Surely  the  world  as  God  had 
made  it  was  a  place  of  open  sky,  fresh  life-giv- 
ing breezes,  and  rolling  meadows  of  dewy,  fra- 
grant greenness.  How  did  it  happen  that  peo- 
ple could  get  so  far  away  from  all  that  made 
life  sweet  and  wholesome?  How  had  they  lost 
their  birthright? 

As  Jacob  looked  at  the  gray,  dirty  children 
of  Bag  Hall  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  had 
never  had  a  chance  to  be  anything  better. 
"What  should  I  have  been  if  I  had  always  lived 
in  such  a  place?"  he  said  to  himself. 

One  Christmas,  Jacob's  father  gave  him  a 
mark, — a  silver  coin  like  our  quarter, — which 
was  more  money  than  the  boy  had  ever  had  be- 

108 


Jaeob  A.  "Riis 


JACOB  BUS 

fore.  Now  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  might  be 
able  to  do  something  to  help  make  things  better 
in  Bag  Hall.  He  ran  to  the  tenement — to  the 
room  of  the  most  miserable  family  who  lived 
there. 

"Here,"  he  said  to  a  man  who  took  the  money 
as  if  he  were  stunned,  "1 11  divide  my  Christ- 
mas mark  with  you,  if  you  '11  just  try  to  clean 
things  up  a  bit,  especially  the  children,  and  give 
them  a  chance  to  live  like  folks. ' ' 

The  twelve-year-old  boy  little  thought  that  the 
great  adventure  of  his  life  really  began  that  day 
at  Bag  Hall.  But  years  after  when  he  went 
about  among  the  tenements  of  New  York,  trying 
to  make  things  better  for  the  children  of  Mul- 
berry Bend  and  Cherry  Street,  he  remembered 
where  the  long  journey  had  begun. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Christmas  stirred  the 
heart  of  this  young  viking,  and  made  him  long 
for  real  deeds.  Christmas  in  Bibe  was  a  time 
of  joy  and  good-will  to  all.  A  lighted  candle 
was  put  in  the  window  of  every  farm-house  to 
cheer  the  wayfarer  with  the  message  that  no- 
body is  a  stranger  at  Christmas.  Even  the 
troublesome  sparrows  were  not  forgotten.  A 

111 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

sheaf  of  rye  was  set  up  in  the  snow  to  make  them 
the  Christmas-tree  they  would  like  best.  The 
merry  Christmas  elf,  the  "Jule-nissen,"  who 
lived  in  the  attic,  had  a  special  bowl  of  rice  and 
milk  put  out  for  him.  Years  afterward,  when 
this  Danish  lad  was  talking  to  a  crowd  of  New 
York  boys  and  girls,  he  said,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes : 

"I  know  if  no  one  else  ever  really  saw  the 
Nissen  that  our  black  cat  had  made  his  acquaint- 
ance. She  looked  very  wise  and  purred  most 
knowingly  next  morning." 

If  Christmas  brought  the  happiest  times,  the 
northwest  storms  in  autumn  brought  the  most 
thrilling  experiences  of  Jacob 's  boyhood.  Then, 
above  the  moaning  of  the  wind,  the  muttered 
anger  of  the  waves,  and  the  crash  of  falling 
tiles,  came  the  weird  singing  of  the  big  bell  in 
the  tower  of  the  Domkirke — the  cathedral,  you 
know. 

After  such  a  night  the  morning  would  dawn 
on  a  strange  world  where  storm-lashed  waves 
covered  the  meadows  and  streets  for  miles 
about,  and  on  the  causeway,  high  above  the 
flood-level,  cattle,  sheep,  rabbits,  grouse,  and 

112 


JACOB  RIIS 

other  frightened  creatures  of  the  fields  huddled 
together  in  pitiful  groups. 

One  night,  when  the  flood  had  risen  before  the 
mail-coach  came  in  and  the  men  of  the  town 
feared  for  the  lives  of  the  passengers,  Jacob 
went  out  with  the  rescue-party  to  the  road 
where  the  coach  must  pass.  Scarcely  able  to 
stand  against  the  wind,  he  struggled  along  on 
the  causeway  where,  in  pitchy  blackness,  with 
water  to  his  waist  and  pelting  spray  lashing  his 
face  like  the  sting  of  a  whip,  he  groped  along, 
helping  to  lead  the  frightened  horses  to  the 
lights  of  the  town  a  hundred  yards  away.  It 
was  hard  that  night  to  get  warmed  through; 
but  the  boy's  heart  glowed,  for  had  not  the 
brusk  old  Amtmand,  the  chief  official  of  the 
country,  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  said,  while 
rapping  him  smartly  on  the  shoulders  with  his 
cane,  as  if,  in  other  days,  he  would  have 
knighted  him,  "Strong  boy,  be  a  man  yet!" 

Jacob's  father,  who  was  master  of  the  town 
school,  was  keenly  disappointed  when  this  alert, 
promising  son  declared  his  wish  to  give  up  the 
ways  of  book-learning  and  master  the  carpen- 
ter's trade.  The  boy  felt  that  building  houses 

113 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

for  people  to  live  in  would  be  far  better  than 
juggling  with  words  and  all  the  unreal  problems 
with  which  school  and  school-books  seemed  to 
deal.  Thinking  that  it  would  be  useless  to  try 
to  force  his  son  into  a  life  distasteful  to  him, 
the  father  swallowed  his  disappointment  and 
sent  him  to  serve  his  apprenticeship  with  a 
great  builder  in  Copenhagen.  The  boy  should, 
he  determined,  have  the  best  start  in  his  chosen 
calling  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  give  him. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  in  the  capital,  Jacob 
went  to  meet  his  student  brother  at  the  palace 
of  Charlottenborg,  where  an  art  exhibition  was 
being  held.  Seeing  that  he  was  a  stranger  and 
ill  at  ease,  a  tall,  handsome  gentleman  paused  on 
his  way  up  the  grand  staircase  and  offered  to 
act  as  guide.  As  they  went  on  together,  the 
gentleman  asked  the  boy  about  himself  and  lis- 
tened with  ready  sympathy  to  his  eager  story 
of  his  life  in  the  old  town,  and  what  he  hoped 
to  do  in  the  new  life  of  the  city.  When  they 
parted  Jacob  said  heartily: 

"  People  are  just  the  same  friendly  neighbors 
in  Copenhagen  that  they  are  in  little  Eibe — jolly 
good  Danes  everywhere,  just  like  you,  sir  1 ' 7 

114 


JACOB  BUS 

The  stranger  smiled  and  patted  him  on  the 
shoulder  in  a  way  more  friendly  still.  Just  at 
that  moment  they  came  to  a  door  where  a  red- 
liveried  lackey  stood  at  attention.  He  bowed 
low  as  they  entered  and  Jacob,  bowing  back, 
turned  to  his  new  friend  with  a  delighted  smile : 

11  There  is  another  example  of  what  I  mean, 
sir,"  he  said.  "Would  you  believe  it,  now,  that 
I  have  never  seen  that  man  before?" 

The  gentleman  laughed,  and,  pointing  to  a 
door,  told  Jacob  he  would  find  his  brother  there. 
While  the  boy  happily  recounted  his  adventures, 
particularly  the  story  of  his  kindly  guide,  the 
handsome  gentleman  passed  through  the  room 
and  nodded  to  him  with  his  twinkling  smile. 

"There  is  my  jolly  gentleman,"  said  Jacob, 
as  he  nodded  back. 

His  brother  jumped  to  his  feet  and  bowed  low. 

"Good  gracious!"  he  said,  when  the  stranger 
had  passed  out.  "You  don't  mean  to  say  lie 
was  your  guide?  Why,  boy,  that  was  the 
King!" 

So  Jacob  learned  that  in  Denmark  even  a 
king,  whom  he  had  always  thought  of  as  wear- 
ing a  jeweled  crown  and  a  trailing  robe  of  vel- 

115 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

vet  and  ermine  held  by  dainty  silken  pages, 
could  go  about  in  a  plain  blue  overcoat  like  any 
other  man,  and  be  just  as  simple  and  neighborly. 

In  Copenhagen  the  king  of  his  fairy-book 
world  was  a  neighbor,  too.  Hans  Christian  An- 
dersen was  a  familiar  figure  on  the  streets  at 
that  time.  Jacob  and  his  companions  often  met 
him  walking  under  the  lindens  along  the  old 
earthen  walls  that  surrounded  the  city. 

" Is  n't  he  an  ugly  duck,  though !"  said  Jacob 
one  evening,  as  the  awkward  old  man,  with  his 
long,  ungainly  neck  and  limbs  and  enormous 
hands  and  feet,  came  in  sight.  Then  the  merry 
young  fellows  strung  themselves  along  in  In- 
dian file,  each  in  turn  bowing  low  as  he  passed, 
and  saying  with  mock  reverence,  "Good  eve- 
ning, Herr  Professor!" 

But  when  the  gentle  old  man,  with  the  child's 
heart,  seized  their  hands  in  his  great  grasp  and 
thanked  them  delightedly,  they  slunk  by  shame- 
facedly, and,  while  they  chuckled  a  little,  avoided 
meeting  each  other's  eyes.  For  in  their  hearts 
they  loved  the  old  man  whose  stories  had 
charmed  their  childhood,  and  they  knew  that  the 

116 


JACOB  RIIS 

spirit  within  the  lank,  awkward  body  was  alto- 
gether lovely. 

All  the  time  that  Jacob  was  working  with 
hammer  and  saw,  he  was,  like  that  first  Jacob 
of  whom  we  read,  serving  for  his  Rachel.  From 
the  time  he  was  a  clumsy  lad  of  twelve  he  knew 
that  his  playmate  Elizabeth,  with  the  golden 
curls  and  the  fair,  gentle  looks,  was  the  princess 
of  his  own  fairy-tale.  Like  all  good  fairy-tales, 
it  simply  had  to  turn  out  happily. 

When  his  apprenticeship  was  over  and  he  had 
learned  all  about  building  houses  for  people  to 
live  in,  he  hurried  at  once  to  Ribe  to  build  his 
own  house.  It  seemed,  however,  that  nobody 
realized  that  he  was  the  hero  who  was  to  marry 
the  princess.  Why,  Elizabeth's  father  owned 
the  one  factory  in  town,  and  they  lived  in  a  big 
house,  which  some  people  called  a  "castle." 
Small  chance  that  he  would  let  his  pretty  daugh- 
ter marry  a  carpenter! 

Since  working  faithfully  for  long,  busy  years 
had  not  brought  him  to  his  goal,  Jacob  threw 
aside  his  tools  and  decided  to  seek  his  fortune 
in  a  new  country.  In  America,  surely,  a  true 

117 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

man  might  come  into  his  own.  The  days  of  high 
adventure  were  not  dead.  He  would  win  fame 
and  fortune,  and  then  return  in  triumph  to  the 
old  town — and  to  Elizabeth. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning — surely  a 
prophecy  of  fair  beginnings — when  this  young 
viking  sailed  into  New  York  Harbor.  The 
dauntless  Northmen,  who  pushed  across  the 
seas  and  discovered  America,  could  not  have 
thrilled  more  at  the  sight  of  their  Vineland  than 
did  this  Dane  of  our  own  day  when  he  saw  the 
sky-line  of  the  great  city.  This  must  indeed  be 
a  new  world  of  opportunity  for  strong  men. 

It  took  only  a  day  of  wandering  about  the 
crowded  streets,  however,  to  convince  this 
seeker  that  a  golden  chance  is  as  hard  to  find  in 
the  New  York  of  to-day  as  gold  was  in  those 
disillusioning  days  of  the  early  explorers.  The 
golden  chance,  it  seemed,  was  to  be  won,  if  at 
all,  as  is  the  precious  metal — only  after  intel 
ligent  prospecting  and  patient  digging. 

How  utterly  alone  he  felt  in  that  crowd  of 
hurrying  strangers !  Very  different  it  all  was 
from  his  cozy  little  country  where  every  one  was 
a  neighbor,  even  the  king  himself. 

118 


The  Jacob  A.   Riis  settlement,   Henry  Street,  New   York 


JACOB  KIIS 

Out  of  sheer  loneliness  and  the  desire  to  be- 
long to  somebody  he  threw  in  his  lot  with  a 
gang  of  men  who  were  being  gathered  together 
to  work  in  a  mining-camp  on  the  Allegheny 
River.  Perhaps  the  West  was  his  Promised 
Land,  and  Pennsylvania  would  be  a  start  on  the 
way. 

The  young  carpenter  was  set  to  work  building 
houses  for  the  workers  in  the  mines.  He  could 
not  content  himself,  however,  in  this  shut-in 
country.  To  one  used  to  the  vastness  of  a  level 
land  stretching  as  far  as  eye  could  see,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  hills  and  forests  hedged  him  in  on 
every  side — as  if  he  could  not  breathe.  To  ease 
the  restlessness  of  his  homesick  spirit,  he  de- 
termined to  try  his  fortune  at  coal-mining. 
One  day  was  enough  of  that.  In  his  inexperi- 
ence he  failed  to  brace  the  roof  properly,  and  a 
great  piece  of  rock  came  down  on  him,  knocking 
the  lamp  from  his  cap  and  leaving  him  stunned 
and  in  utter  darkness.  When  at  last  he  suc- 
ceeded in  groping  his  way  out,  it  was  as  if  he 
had  come  back  from  the  dead.  The  daylight 
had  never  before  seemed  so  precious.  Nothing 
could  have  induced  him  to  try  coal-mining  again. 

121 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

At  this  time,  1870,  news  came  of  the  war  be- 
tween Germany  and  France.  It  was  expected, 
moreover,  that  Denmark  would  come  to  the  as- 
sistance of  the  French,  since  only  a  few  years 
before,  in  1864,  Germany  had  seized  some  of  the 
choicest  territory  of  the  little  North  Sea  king- 
dom— Schleswig-Holstein,  the  section  through 
which  the  important  Kiel  Canal  has  been 
built.  Every  Dane  longed  to  avenge  the  wrong. 
Jacob  Kiis  at  once  left  his  tools  and  his  work. 
He  would  win  glory  as  a  soldier. 

He  reached  New  York  with  but  a  single  cent 
in  his  pocket,  only  to  find  that  no  one  was  fitting 
out  volunteer  companies  to  send  to  France. 
Here  he  was  longing  to  offer  his  life  for  the 
cause,  and  it  was  treated  like  a  worthless  trifle. 
Clothes  and  every  cherished  possession  that  his 
little  trunk  contained  were  soon  pawned  to  pay 
for  food  and  a  roof  over  his  head. 

There  followed  months  when  the  young  man 
wandered  about  the  great  city,  homeless, 
hungry,  vainly  seeking  employment.  Too  proud 
to  beg,  he  yet  accepted  night  after  night  a  plate 
of  meat  and  rolls  which  a  French  cook  in  a 
large  restaurant  handed  him  from  a  basement 

122 


JACOB  RIIS 

window.  It  seemed  as  if  that  was  a  part  of  the 
debt  France  owed  her  would-be  soldier. 

He  was  part  of  a  weary  army  of  discouraged 
men  hunting  for  work.  He  knew  what  it  meant 
to  sleep  on  park  benches,  in  doorways,  in  empty 
wagons,  and  even  on  the  flat  stone  slabs  of  a 
graveyard.  There  were,  in  New  York,  friends 
of  his  family  who  might  have  helped  him,  but 
he  was  too  proud  to  make  himself  known  in  his 
present  sorry  plight.  He  even  destroyed  the 
letters  to  them,  lest  in  a  moment  of  weakness 
he  might  be  tempted  to  appeal  to  their  charity. 

This  time  of  hardship,  however,  was  destined 
to  bear  fruit.  Jacob  Biis  came  to  know  the 
shadows  of  the  great  city — all  the  miserable  al- 
leys and  narrow  courts  of  the  East  Side  slums. 
Then  and  there,  weak  and  starving  though 
he  was,  the  boy  who  had  given  his  Christmas 
money  to  help  Rag  Hall  vowed  that  he  would 
some  day  work  to  remove  those  plague-spots 
from  the  city's  life.  "How  true  it  is,"  he  said, 
' 'that  one  half  of  the  world  doesn't  know  how 
the  other  half  lives  I  If  they  only  knew,  things 
would  be  different." 

At  last  the  chance  for  which  he  had  been  long- 
123 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ing  came.  Hearing  that  a  new  reporter  was 
wanted  by  the  News  Association,  he  applied  for 
the  position.  After  looking  the  haggard  ap- 
plicant over  for  a  moment  doubtfully,  the  edi- 
tor was  moved  to  give  him  a  trial.  The  starv- 
ing man  was  sent  to  report  a  political  banquet. 
When  he  turned  in  his  "copy"  at  the  office 
the  editor  said  briefly: 

"You  will  do.  Take  that  desk  and  report  at 
ten  every  morning,  sharp." 

So  began  his  life  as  a  reporter. 

Perhaps  you  know  something  of  his  success  as 
a  newspaper  man.  He  knew  how  to  gather 
news ;  and  he  knew  how  to  find  the  words  that 
make  bare  facts  live.  The  days  and  nights  of 
privation  had  been  rich  in  experience.  He  was 
truly  "a  part  of  all  that  he  had  met."  Some- 
thing of  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  existence,  something  of  his 
warm,  understanding  sympathy  for  every  vari- 
ety of  human  joy  and  sorrow,  crept  into  his 
work.  Besides,  the  young  man  had  boundless 
enthusiasm  and  tireless  industry. 

"That  chap  just  seems  to  eat  work,"  said  his 
fellow-reporters. 

124 


JACOB  BUS 

One  day  a  very  special  letter  came  from  Den- 
mark, which  told  him  that  his  gentle  Elizabeth 
was  quite  convinced  that  he  was  indeed  the 
prince  of  her  life  story.  So,  as  it  turned  out,  he 
didn't  have  to  make  a  fortune  before  he  was 
able  to  bring  her  to  share  his  home  in  New  York. 
With  her  it  seemed  that  he  brought  the  best  of 
the  old  life  into  the  new — 

Brought  the  moonlight,  starlight,  firelight, 
Brought  the  sunshine  of  his  people. 

The  only  homesick  times  that  he  knew  now 
were  the  days  when  his  work  as  a  reporter  took 
him  to  the  streets  of  the  miserable  tenements. 
All  his  soul  cried  out  against  these  places  where 
the  poor,  the  weak,  and  the  wicked,  the  old,  the 
sick,  and  helpless  babies  were  all  herded  to- 
gether in  damp,  dingy  rooms  where  the  purify- 
ing sunlight  never  entered.  During  his  years 
of  wandering  in  search  of  work  he  had  gained 
an  intimate  knowledge  of  such  conditions.  He 
knew  what  poverty  meant  and  how  it  felt. 
Afterward,  when  he  saw  this  hideous  squalor,  he 
shared  it.  These  people  were  his  neighbors. 

"Over  against  the  tenements  of  our  cities," 
he  said,  "ever  rise  in  my  mind  the  fields,  the 

125 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

woods,  God's  open  sky,  as  accusers  and  wit- 
nesses that  his  temple  is  being  defiled  and  man 
dwarfed  in  body  and  soul." 

He  knew  that  the  one  way  to  remove  such 
evils  and  to  force  people  to  put  up  decent  houses 
for  the  poor  was  to  bring  the  facts  out  in  the 
open.  When  he  described  what  he  had  seen,  the 
words  seemed  to  mean  little  to  many  of  the 
people  that  he  wanted  to  reach.  Then  he  hit 
upon  the  plan  of  taking  pictures.  These  pic- 
tures served  to  illustrate  some  very  direct  talks 
he  gave  in  the  churches.  Later,  many  of  them 
made  an  important  part  of  his  book,  "How  the 
Other  Half  Lives." 

" These  people  are  your  neighbors,"  said 
Jacob  Eiis.  "It  is  the  business  of  the  fortunate 
half  of  those  who  live  in  our  great  cities  to  find 
out  how  the  other  half  lives.  No  one  can  live  to 
himself  or  die  to  himself — 

If  you  will  not  grub  for  your  neighbor's  weeds, 
In  your  own  green  garden  you  '11  find  the  seeds.' " 

Through  his  persistent  campaigning,  one  of 
the  very  worst  parts  of  New  York,  known  as 
Mulberry  Bend,  a  veritable  network  of  alleys 

126 


JACOB  RIIS 

which  gave  hiding  to  misery  and  crime  untold, 
was  bought  by  the  city,  the  buildings  torn  down, 
and  the  spot  converted  into  a  public  park. 

Several  years  later,  when  Eoosevelt  was 
President,  he  asked  Mr.  Riis  to  investigate  the 
conditions  of  streets  and  alleys  in  Washington. 
It  developed  that  within  three  squares  of  the 
Capitol  there  was  a  system  of  alleys  honey- 
combing a  single  block  where  a  thousand  people 
were  crowded  together  under  conditions  that 
made  a  hotbed  of  misery,  crime,  and  disease. 
The  good  citizens  of  the  National  Capital,  who 
had  read  with  horror  about  the  evils  of  New 
York  and  Chicago,  were  rudely  shaken  out  of 
their  self-complacency.  That  square  is  now  one 
of  Washington's  parks. 

Jacob  Riis  early  learned  the  power  of  facts. 
His  training  as  a  reporter  taught  him  that.  He 
was  also  willing  to  Work  early  and  late,  when 
the  need  arose,  to  gather  them.  At  one  time 
when  there  was  a  cholera  scare  in  New  York,  he 
happened  to  look  over  the  Health  Department 
analysis  of  the  water  from  the  Croton  River, 
and  noticed  that  it  was  said  to  contain  "a  trace 
of  nitrites. " 

127 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

"What  does  that  mean!"  he  asked  of  the 
chemist. 

The  reply  was  more  learned  than  enlighten- 
ing. The  reporter  was  not  satisfied.  He  car- 
ried his  inquiry  farther  and  discovered  that 
"nitrites'*  meant  that  the  water  had  been  con- 
taminated by  sewage  from  towns  above  New 
York.  Riis  then  took  his  camera  and  explored 
not  only  the  Croton  River  to  its  source,  but  also 
every  stream  that  emptied  into  it,  taking  pic- 
tures that  proved  in  the  most  convincing  way 
the  dangers  of  the  city.  As  a  result,  money 
was  appropriated  to  buy  a  strip  of  land  along 
the  streams,  wide  enough  to  protect  the  people's 
water-supply. 

Another  great  work  that  Jacob  Riis  was  en- 
abled to  carry  through  had  its  beginnings  in  that 
stormy  chapter  of  his  life  when  he  found  him- 
self a  vagrant  among  vagrants.  He  learned  at 
first  hand  what  the  police  lodging-houses  for  the 
homeless  were  like.  At  that  time  this  charity 
was  left  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  who  had 
neither  the  ability  nor  the  desire  to  handle  these 
cases  wisely  and  humanely  and  to  meet  the  prob- 
lems of  helping  people  to  help  themselves. 

128 


Jacob  Kiis  worked  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
Theodore  Eoosevelt,  who  was  then  police  com- 
missioner of  New  York,  to  make  the  organized 
charity  of  the  city  an  intelligent  agency  for  re- 
lieving suffering  and  putting  on  their  feet  again 
those  who  were,  for  some  reason,  "down  and 
out."  Many  were  brought  back  to  wholesome 
living  through  the  realization  that  they  had 
*  *  neighbors '  '  who  cared. 

In  the  same  way  he  worked  for  parks  and 
playgrounds  for  the  children.  He  saw  that  the 
city  spoils  much  good  human  material. 

"We  talk  a  great  deal  about  city  toughs,"  he 
says  in  his  autobiography.  "In  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  they  are  lads  of  normal  impulses  whose 
possibilities  have  all  been  smothered  by  the 
slum.  With  better  opportunities  they  might 
have  been  heroes." 

Many  honors  came  to  Jacob  Ens.  He  was 
known  as  a  "boss  reporter";  his  books  gave 
him  a  nation-wide  fame;  the  King  of  Denmark 
sent  him  the  Crusaders'  Cross,  the  greatest 
honor  his  native  land  could  bestow;  President 
Eoosevelt  called  him  the  "most  useful  Ameri- 
can" of  his  day.  But  I  think  what  meant  more 

129 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

to  him  than  any  or  all  of  these  things  was  the 
real  affection  of  his  many  "neighbors,"  espe- 
cially the  children. 

Many  times  he  gathered  together  beys  and 
girls  from  the  streets  to  enjoy  a  day  with  him  in 
the  country. 

"This  will  help  until  we  can  give  them  trees 
and  grass  in  their  slum,"  he  would  say,  "and 
then  there  will  be  no  slum."  His  eyes  grew 
very  tender  as  he  added,  ' '  No,  there  will  be  no 
slum ;  it  will  be  a  true  City  Beautiful — and  the 
fairest  blossoms  there  will  be  the  children." 

Biis  called  the  story  of  his  life,  * '  The  Making 
of  an  American."  While  his  life  was  in  the 
making  he  helped  to  make  many  others.  He 
was  in  truth  a  maker  of  Americans. 

Do  you  not  think  that  he  lived  a  life  as  truly 
adventurous  as  the  vikings  of  old — this  viking 
of  our  own  day?  They  lived  for  deeds  of  dar- 
ing and  plunder;  he  lived  for  deeds  every  whit 
as  brave — and  for  service. 


130 


A  PIONEER  OF  THE  OPEN: 
EDWARD  L.  TEUDEAU 


Oh,  toiling  hands  of  mortals!  Oh,  unwearied  feet, 
traveling  ye  know  not  whither!  Soon,  soon,  it  seems  to 
you,  you  must  come  forth  on  some  conspicuous  hilltop,  and 
but  a  little  way  further,  against  the  setting  sun,  descry 
the  spires  of  El  Dorado.  Little  do  ye  know  your  own 
blessedness;  for  to  travel  hopefully  is  a  better  thing  than 
to  arrive,  and  the  true  success  is  to  labor. 

STEVENSON:    El  Dorado. 


A  PIONEER  OF  THE  OPEN 

WHEN  you  read  in  your  history  the  stories 
of  the  men  who  discovered  America,  did 
you  ever  think  that  not  one  of  them  found  that 
for  which  he  searched  when  he  sailed  unknown 
seas  and  braved  the  perils  of  an  unbroken  wil- 
derness? Columbus  tried  to  find  a  sea-way  to 
the  Indies,  and  stumbled  upon  a  new  world. 
Henry  Hudson,  in  seeking  a  short  cut  to  the 
Pacific,  found  New  York.  De  Soto,  hunting  in 
vain  for  gold,  was  little  comforted  by  the  sight 
of  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Mississippi.  And 
so  with  Ponce  de  Leon,  Balboa,  La  Salle,  and 
all  the  rest.  Each  journeyed  in  search  of  one 
thing  and  found  another. 

Nor  did  any  of  these  discoverers  know  what 
he  had  found.  De  Soto  had  no  vision  of  great 
plains  of  golden  grain,  food  for  millions  of 
men,  along  the  shores  of  his  river.  Henry  Hud- 
son never  dreamed  of  the  city  of  New  York. 
These  men  only  blazed  the  trail.  It  was  for 

133 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

those  who  came  after  to  understand  and  use 
what  they  had  found. 

Each  year  men  were  finding,  and  helping  oth- 
ers to  find,  a  new  land.  Some  of  these  men 
were  the  pioneers  who  cleared  the  ground  and 
planted  farms ;  some  were  those  who  built  roads 
and  bridges;  some  were  those  who  took  iron, 
coal,  and  oil  from  the  ground ;  some  were  those 
who  taught  the  children  of  the  new  land  in  the 
little  bare  school-houses.  All  of  these  people 
helped  to  discover  our  America, 

Did  you  know  that  the  work  of  discovery  is 
still  going  on?  Ten  years  from  now  many 
changes  will  have  come  to  pass;  in  a  hundred 
years  a  new  world  will  have  been  found. 

This  is  the  story  of  one  of  the  greatest  discov- 
erers of  our  day — the  story  of  a  man  who  found 
a  new  world  in  the  North  Woods  of  New  York. 
But  like  the  other  discoverers,  he  searched  for 
one  thing  and  found  another,  and  he  spent  many 
years  of  patient  work  in  trying  to  understand 
and  use  in  the  best  way  what  he  had  found. 

Edward  Livingston  Trudeau  was  born  with 
a  love  of  the  woods  and  the  life  of  the  open. 

134 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

In  Ms  father,  Dr.  James  Trudeau,  the  call  of 
the  wild  was  so  strong  that  again  and  again 
he  would  leave  the  city  and  his  work  to  lose 
himself  in  the  great  forests  of  the  West  far 
from  the  world  of  men.  He  used  to  say  that  it 
was  only  when  he  could  lose  himself  in  this  way 
that  he  seemed  to  find  himself.  Once  he  lived 
for  two  years  with  the  Osage  Indians,  learning 
their  woodcraft  and  their  skill  in  riding  and 
hunting.  In  1841  he  went  with  Fremont,  the 
explorer,  on  his  great  expedition  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  And  it  was  never  hard  for  his 
friend  Audubon,  the  famous  naturalist,  to  per- 
suade him  to  shut  up  his  office  and  fare  forth 
with  him  into  the  wilds.  He  was  always  rest- 
less and  ill  at  ease  within  walls ;  only  when  out 
under  the  open  sky  did  he  feel  fully  alive. 

Of  course,  this  uncertain,  wandering  life 
ruined  his  chances  of  success  in  his  profession. 
He  gave  up  his  office  in  New  York,  and,  leaving 
his  children  with  their  grandfather,  returned  to 
his  earlier  home  in  New  Orleans,  thinking  that 
perhaps  it  would  be  easier  to  settle  down  there 
to  a  more  regular  and  ordered  life.  But  he  was 

135 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

never  able  to  resist  for  long  at  a  time  the  crav- 
ing for  the  freedom  of  the  great  outdoors. 

Edward  Trudeau's  childhood  was  spent  in 
large  cities — New  York  first,  and  then  Paris; 
he  never  knew  his  father,  and  yet  he  shared  his 
strong  love  for  a  wild,  outdoor  life.  He  used 
often  to  say  that  it  was  strange  how  the  trait 
which  in  his  father  had  wrecked  his  career  as  a 
physician  saved  the  life  of  his  son,  at  a  time 
when  he  was  so  ill  that  he  could  live  only  in 
the  open  air,  and  really  led  to  his  success  as  a 
doctor  by  showing  him  that  fresh  air  and  sun- 
shine are  often  a  sure  cure  where  medicines 
fail. 

Did  you  know  that  only  a  very  few  years  ago 
many  people  were  afraid  to  open  their  win- 
dows? That  was  the  time  when  so  many  were 
dying  of  tuberculosis  that  it  was  called  "the 
great  white  plague."  It  was  as  mysterious  and 
terrible  as  the  Black  Death,  which,  we  read,  once 
carried  off  half  the  people  of  England,  because 
this  "white  plague"  was  an  enemy  that  never 
withdrew.  No  one  knew  what  caused  the 
trouble,  but  they  thought  it  must  be  due  to  a 
chill  of  some  kind,  so  they  carefully  shut  out 

136  ' 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

the  fresh  air.  Every  child  to-day  knows  that 
they  were  shutting  out  the  one  thing  that  could 
cure  them.  But  do  you  know  that  it  was  Ed- 
ward Trudeau  who  taught  us  that?  He  was 
really  the  discoverer  of  the  importance  of  fresh 
air  as  a  cure  for  many  ills,  and,  still  better,  as  a 
means  of  keeping  well.  Besides  this,  he  lived 
the  life  of  a  true  hero.  Listen  to  his  story  and 
see  if  you  will  not  say  with  me  that  his  was  as 
brave  a  fight  as  that  of  any  hero  of  battle.  And 
his  victory  was  one  in  which  the  whole  world 
has  a  share. 

Though  Edward  Trudeau  was  born  with  his 
father's  love  of  the  open,  most  of  his  early  life, 
as  we  have  said,  was  spent  in  big  cities.  When 
he  was  a  child  of  three,  his  grandfather,  Dr. 
Berger,  a  French  physician  who  had  earned  re- 
nown not  only  in  his  own  country  but  also  in 
New  York,  took  him  and  his  older  brother  to 
Paris,  where  they  lived  for  fifteen  years.  Here 
he  was  like  a  wood-bird  in  a  cage,  looking  at  a 
strange  life  and  strange  people  through  the 
bars. 

Sometimes  the  bits  of  life  he  saw  were  very 
gay  and  fascinating,  for  this  was  the  time  of 

137 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

the  Second  Empire,  when  the  capital  was  al- 
ways a-flutter  over  some  occasion  of  royal  pomp 
or  brilliant  celebration.  Napoleon  III  (whom 
Victor  Hugo  wittily  dubbed  "Napoleon  the  Lit- 
tle" in  contrast  with  his  uncle,  Napoleon  the 
Great)  tried  to  make  the  splendor  and  glitter  of 
extravagant  display  take  the  place  of  the  true 
glory  of  great  deeds.  One  of  his ' '  big  brass  gen- 
erals," who  was  always  quite  dazzling  in  gold 
lace  and  gleaming  decorations,  lived  on  the  first 
floor,  immediately  below  Dr.Berger's  apart- 
ment, and  Edward  Trudeau  felt,  as  he  watched 
from  the  window  this  ideal  figure  of  military 
power  dash  up  to  the  porte-cochere  on  his  spir- 
ited horse,  all  splendid,  too,  in  gold  trappings, 
that  here  truly  was  one  of  the  great  race  of 
heroes.  He  trembled  with  delight  when  the 
great  man  took  notice  of  his  small,  hero-worship- 
ing self,  and  they  became  friends  after  a  fash- 
ion. But  General  Bazaine  was,  as  events 
proved,  much  more  within  his  capabilities  when 
sitting  tall  on  a  prancing,  gold-caparisoned 
horse  at  a  royal  review  of  the  troops  than  when 
leading  the  forces  of  France  against  the  German 
army.  When  the  Franco-Prussian  War  came  in 

138 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

1870  it  was  largely  through  his  tactical  blunders, 
and  cowardly  treachery,  perhaps,  that  Sedan 
was  surrounded  and  the  French  army  obliged  to 
surrender  to  the  victorious  Germans.  When 
Edward  Trudeau  read  in  the  papers  the  news  of 
the  French  defeat  his  heart  was  sad  over  the  fall 
of  his  boyish  idol,  but  the  truth  entered  his  soul 
that  the  real  victors  of  real  battles  are  not  al- 
ways those  magnificent  ones  who  look  most  un- 
conquerable. 

Another  vivid  memory  of  his  childhood  days 
in  Paris  brought  home  the  same  truth.  One 
day,  as  he  watched  at  the  window,  he  was  thrilled 
to  see  a  gorgeous  equerry  from  the  Palais  Royal 
ride  up  in  state  to  his  door  and  hand  a  parcel  to 
the  butler.  This  package,  he  learned,  contained 
the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  which  the  em- 
peror had  sent  to  his  grandfather.  Afterward, 
he  noticed  that  his  grandfather  always  wore  a 
little  red  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole.  But  when 
the  small  boy  questioned  him  in  regard  to  the 
reason  for  his  wearing  the  decoration,  he  only 
smiled  quizzically  and  said,  "Pour  faire  parler 
les  curieux,  mon  enfant"  ("To  give  the  curious 
a  chance  to  talk,  my  child").  As  for  himself, 

139 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

this  modest  French  physician  preferred  to  let 
his  deeds  alone  speak  of  what  he  had  done. 

The  small  boy  who  could  scarcely  remember 
the  time  when  he  did  not  live  in  France  and 
whose  relatives  were  all  French  did  not  forget 
for  a  moment  that  he  was  an  American.  The 
toy  boats  which  he  sailed  in  the  fountains  of  the 
Tuileries  all  bore  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  And 
his  favorite  playmates  at  the  Lycee  Bonaparte, 
where  he  went  to  school,  were  hardy  American 
boys  whose  parents  were  living  in  Paris. 

During  the  years  at  the  French  school  the 
vague,  inner  yearning  for  a  freer,  more  natural 
life,  found  vent  in  many  pranks  and  covert  rebel- 
lion not  only  against  the  class  routine,  but  also, 
more  openly,  against  the  established  order  of 
things  on  the  playground.  Here  some  of  the 
delicately  aristocratic  French  boys  were  much 
disconcerted  by  the  blunt  and  wholly  effectual 
way  in  which  Edward  Trudeau  and  his  chums, 
the  Livingston  lads,  settled  questions  by  argu- 
ment straight  from  the  shoulder. 

When  he  returned  to  New  York  at  eighteen, 
Edward  could  speak  only  broken  English,  but 
he  felt  so  truly  American  that  he  wondered  why 

140 


EDWARD  L.  TEUDEAU 

his  cousins  laughed  when  he  said,  "Ze  English 
is  so  hard  a  language  to  prononciate. ' ' 

Then  came  his  " wander  years"  in  which  he 
tried,  with  a  deep,  unsatisfied  longing  after  he 
knew  not  what,  to  find  his  proper  niche  in  life. 
Something  of  the  memory  of  the  stirring  day 
when  the  American  lads  in  Paris  had  thrilled 
over  the  news  of  the  capture  of  the  privateer 
Alabama  by  the  United  States  cruiser  Kearsage 
off  the  coast  of  France  led  him  to  think  that  he 
wanted  to  enter  the  Navy.  So  he  went  to  a  pre- 
paratory school  at  Newport,  as  the  United 
States  Naval  Academy  had  been,  on  account  of 
the  war,  removed  from  Annapolis  to  that  city, 
together  with  the  historic  old  ship  Constitution, 
which  furnished  quarters  for  the  cadets. 

At  the  very  moment  when  he  was  prepared  to 
enter  the  academy,  Fate  decided  otherwise.  His 
only  brother,  Francis,  whose  delicate  health  had 
always  been  a  cause  of  much  anxiety,  became 
alarmingly  ill.  Though  Edward  was  several 
years  younger,  he  had  always,  as  far  back  as 
he  could  remember,  tried,  at  school  and  on  the 
playground,  to  take  care  of  this  frail  brother. 
He  learned  to  know  by  the  signs  of  the  paling 

141 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

face  and  blue  lips  when  the  weak  heart  was 
missing  its  proper  beat,  and  he  was  always  at 
hand  to  say:  "Steady,  old  fellow,  steady! 
Let 's  drop  out  of  the  game  and  rest  up  a  bit." 

Most  of  the  thrashings  that  he  had  dealt  out 
to  the  school  bullies  were  given  on  his  brother's 
account.  But  if  Frank  was  not  able  to  hold  his 
own  when  it  came  to  fisticuffs,  in  other  encoun- 
ters Edward  learned  to  rely  on  the  strong  char- 
acter and  high  ideals  of  this  brother,  who 
seemed  a  tower  of  strength  when  it  came  to 
battles  of  the  spirit  against  doubts,  fears,  and 
wild  gusts  of  temptation. 

Now  these  two,  who  were  so  closely  united  by 
the  strong  double  bond  of  mutual  dependence 
and  protection,  had  come  to  the  great  parting 
of  the  ways.  The  white  plague  had  Francis  in 
its  terrible  grip.  During  the  last  months  of  the 
hopeless  struggle  Edward  watched  with  him 
night  and  day,  drinking  strong  green  tea  to  keep 
himself  awake,  and,  by  the  doctor 's  orders,  care- 
fully keeping  all  the  windows  closed,  since  the 
outside  air  was  supposed  to  aggravate  the  pain- 
ful cough. 

The  man  who  was  to  cure  many  by  the  simple 
142 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

means  of  fresh  air  learned  his  first  lesson  in 
that  sick-room  where  he  watched  the  one  he 
loved  best  struggle  for  breath,  and  where  he 
himself  caught  the  seeds  of  the  dread  disease. 
This  first  great  sorrow  was  really  the  first  stage 
on  his  great  journey  of  discovery — the  discov- 
ery of  a  new  world  of  life,  restored  to  many  who 
believed  that  they  were  nearing  the  "Valley 
named  of  the  Shadow. "  But  how  often  is  it 
true  that  the  seeker  after  El  Dorado  searches 
for  one  thing  and  finds  another.  How  often 
must  the  fortunate  ones  who  at  last  arrive  at  the 
great  goal  travel  by  ways  they  know  not. 

Edward  Trudeau  had  not  yet  found  his  life- 
work.  He  studied  for  a  few  months  at  the 
school  of  mines  before  he  realized  that  he  was 
not  destined  to  be  an  engineer.  This  was  but 
one  of  many  false  starts.  Indeed,  his  early 
path  was  strewed  with  so  many  bits  of  wreck- 
age from  his  spasmodic  trials  and  failures  that 
when  one  of  his  friends  announced  to  a  group  at 
the  Union  Club  that  he  had  entered  the  Col- 
lege of  Physicians  and  Surgeons,  a  fellow-mem- 
ber said,  "I  bet  five  hundred  dollars  he  never 
graduates."  And  not  one  of  the  companions 

143 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

who  knew  and  loved  him  so  well  was  ready  to 
take  up  the  bet. 

These  merry  companions  of  his  youth,  who 
thought  they  knew  Edward  Trudeau  better  than 
he  knew  himself,  loved  him  well;  for  he  ever 
had  the  gift  of  friendship  with  man  and  beast. 
Dogs  and  horses  at  once  felt  his  comprehending 
hand  and  heart.  And  as  for  the  human  kind — 
were  they  great  masters  of  finance  like  Edward 
H.  Harriman,  gay  young  men  about  town  like 
the  Livingstons,  or  sturdy  mountain  guides  like 
Paul  Smith  and  Fitz-Greene  Halleck — all  and 
each  were  not  only  boon  companions  when  the 
opportunity  served,  but  lifelong  friends  whom 
neither  time  nor  circumstance  could  change. 
When  Dr.  Trudeau  used  to  say  with  feeling, 
"No  one  ever  had  better  friends  than  I  have," 
we  always  thought,  as  we  looked  into  his  kindly 
eyes,  so  alive  with  understanding  sympathy  and 
ready  cheer,  "How  true  it  is  that  the  best  way 
to  win  a  friend  is  to  be  one. ' ' 

The  best  friend  of  all  from  beginning  to  end, 
however,  was  Miss  Charlotte  Beare,  who  be- 
came his  wife  as  soon  as  he  had  graduated  from 
the  medical  school  and  had  spent  six  months  as 

144 


riu,ii,  tin  i I'm.  />, 


Edward  L.  Trudeau 


EDWAED  L.  TEUDEAU 

house  physician  in  The  Strangers'  Hospital. 
When  he  wrote,  toward  the  close  of  his  life,  a 
record  of  what  his  experiences  had  meant,  he 
gave  the  book  this  dedication: 

TO  MY  DEAR  WIFE 

EVER  AT  MY  SIDE 

EVER  CHEERFUL  AND  HOPEFUL  AND  HELPFUL 
THROUGH  THESE  LONG  YEARS 
DURING  WHICH 
"PLEASURE  AND  PAIN 
HAVE  FOLLOWED  EACH  OTHER 
LIKE  SUNSHINE  AND  RAIN." 

It  was  through  his  love  for  her,  he  said,  that 
he  was  able  to  keep  steadily  at  work  during  his 
college  days,  when  close  application  to  study 
and  the  confinement  of  city  life  were  telling  not 
only  upon  his  health  but  also  wearing  away  the 
inner  soul  that  ever  craved,  with  a  deeper  and 
more  poignant  longing,  the  freedom  of  open 
spaces  and  the  breath  of  the  life-giving  woods. 

It  was  a  very  different  story  from  those  light- 
hearted,  familiar  ones  where  "they  married  and 
lived  happily  ever  after."  The  rain  followed 
the  sunshine  very  soon  after  the  young  doctor 
had  returned  from  his  wedding-trip  and  set- 
tled down  to  practice  in  New  York.  After 

147 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

months  of  struggle  against  what  he  thought  was 
a  sort  of  stubborn  malaria,  together  with  the  old 
rebellion  against  a  shut-in  life,  the  doctor  who 
had  worked  so  bravely  to  fit  himself  to  cure 
others  came  face  to  face  with  the  truth  that  he 
himself  had  a  disease  which  no  doctor  could 
cure.  The  world  seemed  dark  indeed  when  he 
thought  he  must  soon  leave  his  loved  wife,  the 
little  Charlotte  and  baby  Ned,  and  all  that  he 
had  hoped  to  accomplish  in  the  future. 

He  little  realized  that  he  had  but  reached  the 
second  stage  in  the  journey  that  was  to  prepare 
him  in  a  way  he  could  not  understand  to  be  the 
1  'Beloved  Physician,'*  one  destined  to  save 
many  who,  like  him,  had  met  death  face  to  face 
and  trembled  before  the  thought  of  separation 
from  those  they  loved. 

A  faint  light  s*eemed  to  shine  in  the  blackness 
of  the  night  that  had  closed  about  him  when 
the  resolve  came  to  go  away  from  the  city  into 
the  still  woods — where  he  had  felt  the  keenest 
joy  in  "mere  living"  on  brief  hunting-trips 
to  the  Adirondacks.  His  dear  wife  should  be 
spared  seeing  the  terrible,  hopeless  fight,  and  he 
should  before  the  end  have  a  bit  of  that  free 

148 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

life  for  which  his  tired  spirit  longed.  And  so, 
though  it  meant  separation,  perhaps  forever, 
from  those  he  loved  best,  he  prepared  to  go  to 
Paul  Smith's  hunting-lodge,  which  was  forty- 
two  miles  from  the  nearest  railroad  in  the  heart 
of  a  still  country  of  mountain  lakes  and  vast, 
untroubled  forest. 

It  took  three  days  for  the  sick  man  to  make 
the  journey.  His  friend  Lou  Livingston,  who 
accompanied  him,  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  him 
to  give  up  going  to  such  a  rough,  remote  place. 
A  mattress  and  pillows  were  arranged  in  the 
two-horse  stage,  in  which  they  had  to  travel 
the  forty-two  miles  of  rough  mountain  road  to 
the  hunting-lodge,  and  the  sick  man  was  made 
as  comfortable  as  possible;  but  when  at  sun- 
set he  caught  sight  of  the  house  through  the 
pines  he  was  too  weak  with  fever  and  the  jolt- 
ing of  the  long  trip  to  stand  or  walk.  A 
hearty,  mountain  guide  picked  him  up  as  if  he 
had  been  an  infant,  carried  him  up  to  his  room, 
and,  as  he  laid  him  on  his  bed,  remarked  com- 
fortingly : 

"That  's  nothing,  Doctor!  You  don't  weigh 
no  more  than  a  dried  lambskin." 

149 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

The  invalid  might  well  have  been  depressed 
by  these  words,  but  the  magic  of  the  country 
had  already  begun  its  work.  He  ate  a  hearty 
meal  with  the  keenest  relish  he  had  known  in 
weeks  and  fell  asleep  like  a  tired  child. 

"When  I  thought  I  had  come  to  the  end,  it 
proved  but  the  turn  in  the  road,"  said  Dr.  Tru- 
deau.  "I  went  to  the  mountains  to  die — I 
found  there  the  beginning  of  a  new  life." 

As  the  weeks  passed  and  left  him  not  losing 
ground,  but  actually  gaining  day  by  day,  the 
truth  gradually  dawned  upon  him  that  fresh  air 
and  rest  were  doing  what  doctors  despaired 
of. 

After  proving  what  a  few  months  could  ac- 
complish, and  finding  that  even  a  short  visit 
to  his  home  meant  an  alarming  setback,  Dr.  Tru- 
deau  and  his  wife  decided  that  they  must  go 
to  the  mountain  country  to  live.  Can  you  im- 
agine what  spending  a  winter  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks  meant  at  that  time,  when  the  only  houses 
were  hunting-lodges  and  the  cabins  of  the 
guides'?  Once,  when  making  the  journey  to 
their  winter  quarters,  the  family  was  caught  in 
a  blizzard.  When  the  sweat  of  their  struggling 

150 


ED  WARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

horses  was  turned  to  a  firm  casing  of  ice  and 
they  all  had  hard  work  to  keep  faces  and  ears 
from  freezing,  they  left  the  cutter,  put  blankets 
on  the  horses,  wrapped  the  children  in  buffalo- 
robes  and  buried  them  in  the  snow,  while  the 
men  tramped  ahead  and  made  a  track  up  the  hill 
for  the  weary  horses.  At  last,  when  it  was 
clear  that  the  animals  could  go  no  farther,  Paul 
Smith  set  off  to  the  hut  of  a  guide  for  fresh 
horses.  As  he  left  the  little  family  buried  in 
the  snow,  he  said  with  his  hearty  laugh  which 
seemed  to  put  new  life  in  the  anxious  travelers : 

"Doctor,  don't  you  know  Napoleon  said,  'The 
dark  regions  of  Russia  is  only  fit  for  Russians  to 
inhabit'  f" 

Altogether  these  Napoleons  were  three  days 
making  the  journey  through  the  snow  to  their 
winter  haven  at  Paul  Smith's  hunting-lodge. 

For  several  years  Dr.  Trudeau  lived  with  his 
family  in  this  wilderness  where  he  had  found 
health  and  happiness.  His  skill  as  a  physician 
was  given  mostly  to  caring  for  the  lumbermen 
and  guides  for  miles  about  and  for  their  dogs 
and  horses.  Of  course  there  were,  too,  the  peo- 
ple of  the  summer  camps.  And  the  story  of 

151 


HEROES  OP  TO-DAY 

his  cure  led  a  New  York  doctor  to  send  a  few 
patients  to  try  the  same  life.  The  number  of 
these  people  increased,  and  gradually  the  col- 
ony of  health-seekers  began  to  grow. 

One  day,  when  Dr.  Trudeau  was  on  the  side 
of  Mount  Pisgah,  near  Saranac  Lake,  he  fell 
asleep  w'hile  leaning  on  his  gun  and  dreamed 
a  dream.  He  saw  as  in  a  vision  the  forest  on 
the  shore  of  the  lake  melt  away,  and  the  whole 
slope  covered  with  houses,  built,  as  it  were,  in- 
side out,  so  that  most  of  the  life  of  the  people 
could  go  on  in  the  open.  As  he  said  years  later, 
when  he  was  making  an  address  at  the  twenty- 
fifth  anniversary  of  the  building  of  the  Adiron- 
dack Cottage  Sanitarium  at  Saranac  Lake,  "I 
dreamed  a  dream  of  a  great  sanitarium  that 
should  be  the  everlasting  foe  of  tuberculosis, 
and  lo,  the  dream  has  come  true ! ' ' 

But  Dr.  Trudeau  was  a  man  who  knew  that, 
if  good  dreams  are  to  come  true,  one  must  have 
the  faith  to  pray  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing 
as  work,  and  the  steady  resolution  to  work  as 
if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  prayer.  Much 
faith  and  much  hard  work  went  into  the  begin- 

152 


EDWAED  L.  TRUDEAU 

nings  of  that  City  of  the  Sick  near  Lake  Sar- 
anac. 

There  was  the  time  of  small  things,  when  the 
chosen  spot,  with  its  scant  grass  and  huge  boul- 
ders, looked  more  like  a  pasture  for  goats  than 
a  building-site.  Faith,  however,  can  not  only 
move  mountains,  it  can  turn  them  into  building 
material ;  faith,  too,  can  move  the  hearts  of  men 
and  make  many  work  together  as  one  for  a  great 
cause.  The  guides  whose  families  the  Beloved 
Physician  had  tended  without  price  gave  six- 
teen acres  on  the  sheltered  plateau  where  he 
had  seen  his  dream  city  arise. 

"We  shall  build  not  a  great  hospital  where 
many  are  herded  together,  but  cottages  where 
those  who  seek  refuge  here  may  each  have  his 
zone  of  pure  air  and  something  of  the  rest 
and  freedom  of  home,"  said  Dr.  Trudeau.  He 
talked  to  his  friends,  he  talked  to  friends  of 
his  friends — to  all  who  would  pause  in  their 
busy  lives  to  listen.  His  glowing  faith  kin- 
dled enthusiasm  in  other  hearts.  Day  by  day, 
not  only  through  the  large  gifts  of  the  few  who 
could  give  much,  but  also  through  the  small 

153 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

gifts  of  the  many  who  could  give  but  little,  the 
fund  grew.  The  doctor 's  dream  became  a  reality. 

When  we  hear  the  stories  of  the  heroes  of  old 
— the  men  of  might,  the  grand  of  soul — does  it 
seem  as  if  our  little  day  gives  no  chance  for 
great  deeds  ?  Look  at  the  Beloved  Physician  of 
Saranac,  with  his  frail  body,  his  cheerful  smile, 
his  unconquerable  hope.  See  him  going  about 
with  loving  care  among  those  whom  life  seemed 
to  have  broken  and  cast  aside.  See  him  in  his 
little  laboratory  struggling  hour  after  hour, 
through  weeks  and  months  and  years,  with  no 
apparatus  save  that  of  his  own  contriving,  with 
no  training  in  scientific  method,  to  lure  the 
germs  of  the  white  plague  within  the  field  of  his 
microscope,  and  force  them  to  give  up  the  secret 
of  their  terrible  power.  Surely  there  is  no 
heroism  greater  than  that  of  such  brave,  patient 
labor  against  all  odds,  against  all  ills,  in  spite 
of  sorrow  and  loss  and  the  fear  of  failure. 

I  like  to  picture  this  hero,  with  his  genius  for 
taking  pains,  at  work  over  his  test-tubes  when 
his  famous  patient,  Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
came  to  visit  the  laboratory.  Dr.  Trudeau 
held  out  a  little  tube  of  liquid  with  the  words, 

154 


The  first  of  the  sanitarium  cottages  built  in  188."5;   known  as 
"The  Little  Bed  " 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

"Here  is  our  enemy  fairly  entrapped  at  last. 
This  little  scum  is  consumption,  the  cause  of 
more  human  suffering  than  anything  else.'* 

The  discoverer  of  "Treasure  Island "  turned 
pale  with  disgust  and  backed  out  of  the  labora- 
tory with  these  words,  "Yes,  Doctor,  I  know 
you  have  a  lantern  at  your  belt,  but  I  don't  like 
the  smell  of  your  oil!" 

The  brilliant  imagination  of  the  great  writer 
failed  to  understand  the  steady  light  of  the  im- 
agination that  seeks  patiently  after  scientific 
truth  in  spite  of  discouragements  and  years  of 
fruitless  work. 

In  the  last  public  address  which  Trudeau 
made,  in  1910,  before  a  gathering  of  physicians 
and  surgeons,  he  said  these  words  which  show 
that  he  had  caught  the  gleam  of  Stevenson's  lan- 
tern: 

Let  us  not  quench  our  faith  nor  turn  from  the  vision 
which,  whether  we  own  it  or  not,  we  carry,  as  Stevenson's 
lantern-bearers,  hidden  from  the  outer  world;  and,  thus  in- 
spired, many  will  reach  the  goal ;  and  if  for  most  of  us  our 
achievements  must  fall  short  of  our  ideals,  if,  when  age 
and  infirmity  overtake  us,  we  come  not  within  sight  of  the 
castle  of  our  dreams,  nevertheless,  all  will  be  well  with  us; 
for,  as  Stevenson  tells  us  rightly,  "to  travel  hopefully  is 
better  than  to  arrive,  and  the  true  success  is  to  labor." 

157 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

One  of  Trudeau's  most  cherished  possessions 
was  a  fine  copy  in  bronze  of  Mercie's  statue 
''Gloria  Victis,"  given  him  by  one  of  his  pa- 
tients. The  sculptor  created  this  statue  in  1871, 
after  the  crushing  blow  inflicted  on  France  by 
the  German  arms,  to  console  and  inspire  the 
French  people  with  the  hope  of  triumph 
through  defeat.  It  shows  a  young  gladiator 
who  has  received  his  death-wound  while  facing 
the  foe,  lifted  up  and  borne  onward  by  a  splen- 
did Victory  with  outstretched  wings.  He  has 
fought  the  fight  and  still  holds  his  sword  in  his 
lifeless  hand.  In  losing  his  life  he  wins  his  vic- 
tory, that  of  one  of  the  *  'faithful  failures"  who 
marched  toward  the  new  day  whose  dawn  is  not 
for  them  but  for  those  who  come  after. 

Dr.  Trudeau,  ever  in  the  grip  of  the  enemy 
that  could  be  held  at  bay,  but  never  conquered, 
labored  year  after  year  to  save  the  lives  of 
others.  Many  he  was  able  to  cure  through  rest 
and  the  life-giving  air  of  the  place  he  had  found 
and  made  to  be  the  battle-ground  against  tuber- 
culosis. In  many  more  he  succeeded  in  arrest- 
ing the  disease  and  giving  years  of  useful  life, 
with  restrictions — days  and  nights  in  the  open, 

158 


EDWARD  L.  TRUDEAU 

eternal  watchfulness.  And  always,  so  condi- 
tioned himself,  he  worked,  while  often  laboring 
for  every  breath  he  drew,  to  find  the  real  cure — 
a  something  that  would  be  able  to  destroy  the 
terrible  germs.  He  never  lived  to  find  it,  but 
he  prepared  the  way  for  others,  who  will  go  on 
with  his  work  and  carry  it  to  success. 

Shortly  before  his  death,  in  November,  1915, 
Dr.  Trudeau  tried  to  explain  what  the  statue 
"Gloria  Victis"  had  meant  to  him: 

"It  typifies,"  he  said,  "many  victories  I  have 
seen  won  in  Saranac  Lake  by  those  whom  I  had 
learned  to  love ;  the  victory  of  the  spirit  over  the 
body ;  the  victories  that  demand  acquiescence  in 
worldly  failure,  and  in  the  supreme  sacrifice  of 
life  itself  as  a  part  of  their  achievement;  the 
victory  of  the  Nazarene,  which  ever  speaks  its 
great  message  to  the  ages." 


159 


1  'THE  PROPHET-ENGINEER": 
GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 


A  man  went  down  to  Panama, 

Where  many  a  man  had  died, 
To  slit  the  sliding  mountains 

And  lift  the  eternal  tide: 
A  man  stood  up  in  Panama, 

And  the  mountains  stood  aside. 

PERCY  MAC  KATE. 


"THE  PBOPHET-ENGINEER" 

WHEN  a  boy  has  a  name  like  George 
Washington  Goethals  he  must  have 
something  out  of  the  ordinary  about  him  to  let 
it  pass  with  his  companions  on  the  playground. 
Should  he  prove  a  weakling,  should  the  other 
boys  discover  any  flaw  in  the  armor  of  his  self- 
confidence,  such  a  name  would  be  a  mockery 
and  a  misfortune. 

Is  there  any  one  who  cannot  recall  certain 
rarely  uncomfortable  moments  of  his  childhood 
when  he  wished  that  the  fates  had  provided  him 
with  a  Christian  name  that  the  other  chaps 
could  n't  send  back  and  forth  like  a  shuttlecock, 
with  a  new  derisive  turn  at  each  toss?  One 
expects  to  endure  a  certain  amount  of  * '  Georgie 
Porgie"  nonsense,  which  has  the  excuse  of 
rime  if  not  of  reason,  but  when  one  also  has 
a  last  name  that  nobody  ever  heard  of  before, 
he  finds  himself  wishing  sometimes  that  he  had 
been  born  a  Johnson  or  a  Smith. 

163 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

"I  don't  believe  that  I  quite  like  our  name," 
remarked  little  George  Goethals  in  the  confi- 
dence of  the  family  circle  one  evening.  "It  is 
a  bit  queer,  isn't  it?" 

"It 's  a  name  to  be  proud  of,  son,"  was  the 
reply.  "It 's  a  name  to  live  up  to.  For  more 
than  a  thousand  years  it  has  been  borne  by 
strong,  brave  men.  It  belongs  to  the  history 
of  more  than  one  country  and  century,  and  the 
way  it  was  won  makes  a  pretty  story. ' ' 

"Tell  me  the  story!"  begged  the  boy,  breath- 
lessly, his  eyes  dark  with  interest. 

"In  the  days  when  knights  were  bold,  a  man 
named  Honorius,  whose  courage  was  as  finely 
tempered  as  his  sword,  went  with  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy  from  Italy  into  France.  In  a  fierce 
battle  with  the  Saracens  he  received  a  terrible 
blow  on  the  neck  which  would  have  felled  most 
men  to  the  ground,  but  his  strength  and  steel 
withstood  the  shock  and  won  for  him  a  nick- 
name of  honor — Boni  Coli  (good  neck).  Later, 
when  he  was  rewarded  for  his  valor  by  a  grant 
of  land  in  the  north  country  which  is  now  Hol- 
land and  Belgium,  this  name  was  changed  after 
the  Dutch  fashion  into  Goet  Hals  (good  or  stiff 

164 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

neck),  and  became  the  family  name  of  all  that 
man's  descendants,  who  made  it  an  honored 
name  in  Holland.  When  your  ancestors  came 
to  America  they  hoped  that  it  would  become 
an  honored  name  in  the  new  country,  and  it 
must  be  your  part  to  help  bring  that  to  pass. ' ' 

The  boy's  eyes  grew  thoughtful.  "For  more 
than  a  thousand  years  it  has  been  the  name  of 
brave  men,"  he  repeated  to  himself.  "But  it  is 
an  American  name  now,  isn't  it?"  he  added 
anxiously. 

"Yes,  son,  it  is  just  as  American  as  it  can  be 
made,"  his  father  returned  with  a  laugh.  "We 
call  it  Go'thals, — there  is  nothing  more  truly 
American  than  a  thing  that  has  go,  you  know, — 
and  we  've  given  you  the  name  of  the  first  Amer- 
ican to  go  with  it. ' ' 

"I  '11  show  that  an  American  Goethals  can 
be  as  brave  as  any  Dutch  one,"  George  boasted. 

"Strong  hearts  and  brave  deeds  speak  for 
themselves,  son,"  he  was  reminded,  "and  they 
are  understood  everywhere,  whether  the  people 
speak  Dutch,  English,  or  Chinese." 

As  the  boy's  school-days  went  by,  it  seemed 
that  he  had  made  that  truth  his  own.  In  his 

165 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

studies  he  showed  that  common  sense  and  thor- 
oughness are  better  than  mere  dash  and  bril- 
liancy. On  the  playground  he  let  others  do  the 
talking,  content  to  make  his  reply  when  he  had 
his  turn  at  the  bat — or  not  at  all.  And  the 
knightly  baron  of  old  who  won  the  name  of 
Good  Neck  could  not  have  held  up  his  head  and 
faced  his  world  with  a  stronger  and  more  1 3so- 
lute  bearing  than  did  this  American  school-boy. 

To  those  who  knew  him  it  was  no  surprise 
when  he  entered  West  Point;  and  it  was  no 
surprise  to  any  one  when  he  graduated  second 
in  his  class. 

"Of  course,  he  wouldn't  be  first,"  one  of  his 
classmates  said;  "that  would  have  been  too 
showy  for  G.  W.  I  don't  know  any  one  to 
whom  just  the  honor  of  a  thing  means  less. 
He  's  glad  to  have  done  a  good  job,  and  of 
course  he  's  glad  to  be  one  of  the  picked  few  to 
go  into  the  engineer  corps.'7 

As  if  unwilling  to  part  with  the  young  lieu- 
tenant, West  Point  kept  him  as  an  instructor 
for  several  months  before  sending  him  on  to 
Willett's  Point,  where  he  remained  in  the  En- 
gineering School  of  Application  for  two  years. 

166 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

He  soon  proved  that  he  had  the  virtues  of  the 
soldier  and  the  leader  of  men — loyalty  and  per- 
severance; loyalty,  that  makes  a  man  able  to 
take  and  give  orders  without  becoming  a  ma- 
chine or  a  tyrant ;  and  perseverance,  that  makes 
him  face  each  problem  with  the  resolution  to 
fight  it  out  to  the  finish. 

There  were  years  when  he  was  detailed  to 
one  task  after  another.  Now  it  was  the  de- 
velopment of  irrigation  works  for  vast  tracts 
of  land  in  the  West  where  only  water  was 
needed  to  make  the  section  a  garden  spot  of  the 
continent.  Then,  when  his  system  of  ditches 
was  fairly  planned  out,  he  was  ordered  off  to 
cope  with  another  problem,  the  building  of 
dikes  and  dams  along  the  Ohio  River  to  curb 
the  spring  floods  and  to  make  the  stream  a  de- 
pendable servant  to  man.  Always  he  was  "on 
the  battle-front  of  engineering,"  facing  nature 
in  her  most  obstinate  moods  and  conquering 
obstacles  that  stood  in  the  way  of  achievement. 

Sometimes  when  he  was  sent  to  a  new  point 
on  the  firing-line,  leaving  others  to  carry  his 
work  to  completion,  he  would  say  to  himself  a 
bit  ruefully,  "What  would  it  be  like,  I  wonder, 

167 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

to  stay  by  a  job  till  the  day  of  results!"  But 
always  Ms  experience  was  the  same.  This 
year,  orders  took  him  to  canal  work  along  the 
Tennessee  River;  the  next,  perhaps,  found  him 
detailed  to  the  work  of  coast  fortifications  at 
Newport.  He  was  sent  for  a  time  to  the  Acad- 
emy at  West  Point  as  instructor  ir1  civil  and 
military  engineering,  and  for  a  while  he  was 
stationed  at  Washington  as  assistant  to  the 
chief  engineer  of  the  army.  Everywhere  he 
showed  a  love  of  work  for  the  work's  sake,  a 
passion  for  a  job  well  done.  But  what  was 
rarer  still,  he  showed  a  reach  of  understanding 
that  was  as  broad  as  his  practical  grasp  was 
firm.  He  always  saw  the  relation  between  his 
own  job  and  a  greater  whole. 

"While  he  keeps  his  eye  on  the  matter  in 
hand,  it  does  n't  shut  out  a  glimpse  of  the  things 
of  yesterday  and  to-morrow.  That  's  why  he  's 
so  reasonable  and  why  his  men  will  follow 
wherever  he  leads, ' '  it  was  said. 

When  the  Spanish- American  war  broke  out 
he  went  to  Porto  Rico  as  chief  engineer  of  the 
First  Army  Corps.  There  his  initial  task  was 
to  construct  a  wharf  where  supplies  could  be 

168 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

landed,  while  a  war  vessel,  which  had  been  de- 
tailed for  the  purpose,  stood  guard  over  the 
operations.  When  the  chief  engineer  looked  at 
the  heavy  surf  breaking  on  the  beach  his  eye 
fell  upon  some  flat-bottomed  barges  which  had 
been  captured  by  the  warship,  and  a  plan  for 
quick  and  effective  construction  recommended 
itself  on  the  instant. 

' '  Fill  the  barges  with  sand,  and  sink  them  as 
a  foundation  for  the  wharf, '  '  was  his  order. 

Only  one,  however,  had  been  so  appropriated 
when  the  amazed  admiral  in  command  of  the 
man-of-war  sent  his  aide  to  direct  the  engineer 
to  call  a  halt  in  his  extraordinary  proceedings. 

"I  am  acting  upon  orders  from  my  com- 
manding officer  and  can  take  none  from  any  one 
else,"  replied  Major  Goethals,  while  the  work 
with  the  second  barge  went  on  merrily.  In  a 
trice  the  aide  returned  with  the  warning  that 
unless  the  orders  were  obeyed,  the  man-of-war 
would  open  fire  on  the  rash  offender. 

"You  '11  have  to  fire  away,  then,"  was  the 
reply,  "for  we  shall  not  stop  until  we  have 
completed  the  work  we  were  sent  here  to  do  and 
landed  the  stores." 

169 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

The  admiral  did  not  send  a  shot  after  his 
threat,  but  he  did  forward  a  complaint  to  the 
engineer's  commanding  officer,  who  directed 
that  lumber  be  employed  instead  of  the  barges. 

Major  Goethals  sent  back  the  reply  that  there 
was  no  lumber  to  be  had,  and,  while  the  offended 
admiral  darkly  threatened  a  court-martial,  com- 
pleted the  wharf. 

"It  was.  pretty  uncomfortable  during  the 
time  the  admiral  passed  by  without  speak- 
ing, was  it  not!"  a  brother  officer  asked  the 
major. 

"Well — we  landed  the  supplies,"  returned 
the  engineer,  quietly,  as  if  that  was  the  only 
thing  that  mattered  after  all.  As  usual,  he  was 
content  to  let  results  speak  for  themselves. 

All  of  the  work  that  this  master  engineer 
had  done  up  to  this  time,  however,  was  really 
unconscious  preparation  for  a  mighty  task  that 
lay  waiting  for  a  man  great  enough  to  face  with 
courage  and  commanding  mind  and  will  the  dif- 
ficulties and  problems  involved  in  the  biggest 
engineering  job  in  America,  or,  indeed,  in  the 
whole  world — the  digging  of  the  Panama  Canal. 
Ever  since  Columbus  made  his  four  voyages  in 

170 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

the  vain  hope  of  finding  a  waterway  between 
the  West  and  the  East,  ever  since  Balboa, 
' '  silent  upon  a  peak  in  Darien, ' '  gazed  out  over 
the  limitless  expanse  of  the  Pacific,  it  had 
seemed  as  if  man  must  be  able  to  make  for  him- 
self a  path  for  his  ships  across  the  narrow  bar- 
rier of  land  that  nature  had  left  there  as  a 
challenge  to  his  powers.  At  first  it  seemed  that 
it  must  be  as  simple  as  it  was  necessary  to  cut 
a  canal  through  forty  miles  of  earth,  but  time 
showed  that  the  mighty  labors  of  Hercules  were 
but  child's  play  compared  to  this. 

Before  Sir  Francis  Drake,  the  daring  pirate 
whom  destiny  and  patriotism  made  into  an  ex- 
plorer and  an  admiral,  died  in  his  ship  off  the 
Isthmus  in  1596,  a  survey  had  been  made  of 
the  trail  along  which  the  Spanish  adventurers 
had  been  carrying  the  plunder  of  their  con- 
quests in  South  America  across  the  narrow 
neck  of  land  from  the  town  of  Panama  to  Porto 
Bello,  where  it  could  be  loaded  on  great  gal- 
leons and  taken  to  Spain.  For  three  centuries 
men  of  different  nations — Spain,  France,  Col- 
ombia, and  the  United  States — made  surveys 
and  considered  various  routes  for  a  canal,  but 

171 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

when  they  came  face  to  face  with  the  project  at 
close  range,  the  tropical  jungle  and  the  great 
rocky  hills  put  a  check  on  their  ventures  before 
they  were  begun. 

In  1875,  however,  when  the  Suez  Canal  was 
triumphantly  completed  by  the  French  canal 
company  it  seemed  as  if  Count  de  Lesseps,  the 
hero  of  this  enterprise,  might  well  be  the  man 
to  pierce  the  New  World  isthmus.  Blinded  by 
his  brilliant  success,  the  venerable  engineer  (de 
Lesseps  was  at  this  time  seventy-five  years  old) 
undertook  the  leadership  of  a  vast  enterprise 
to  dig  a  similar  canal  across  Panama.  A  canal 
was  a  canal;  an  isthmus  was  an  isthmus.  Of 
course,  the  man  who  had  made  a  way  for  ships 
through  Suez  could  join  the  waters  of  the  At- 
lantic and  Pacific  at  Panama.  No  one  seemed 
to  realize  that  the  digging  of  a  ditch  through 
one  hundred  miles  of  level,  sandy  desert  was  an 
entirely  different  problem  from  cutting  a  water- 
way through  solid  rock  and  removing  moun- 
tains, to  say  nothing  of  diverting  into  a  new 
channel  the  flow  of  a  turbulent  river  and  recon- 
ciling the  widely  different  tides  of  two  oceans. 

Other  engineers  realized  that  the  difficulties 
172 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

in  the  way  of  a  sea-level  ditch  were  stupendous 
and  that  the  lock  canal  was  the  type  for  Pan- 
ama. Trusting,  however,  in  the  careless  plans 
of  Lieutenant  Lucien  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
Wyse  of  the  French  Navy,  who  did  not  cover 
in  his  hasty  survey  more  than  two  thirds  of  the 
territory  through  which  the  canal  was  to  pass, 
Count  de  Lesseps  estimated  -that  the  work 
could  be  completed  for  $120,000,000,  and  prom- 
ised that  in  six  years  the  long-sought  waterway 
to  the  Pacific  and  the  East  would  be  open. 
None  could  doubt  that  the  tolls  paid  by  ships 
which  would  no  longer  be  compelled  to  round 
Cape  Horn  in  order  to  reach  the  western  coast 
of  the  continents  of  North  and  South  America, 
the  islands  of  the  Pacific,  and  the  rich  trading 
centers  of  the  Orient,  would  repay  tenfold  the 
people  who  supplied  the  money  for  the  great 
enterprise. 

Trusting  in  the  magic  name  of  the  engineer 
who  had  brought  glory  to  France  and  wealth 
to  those  who  had  supported  his  Suez  venture, 
thousands  of  thrifty  people  throughout  France 
offered  their  savings  in  exchange  for  stock  in 
the  canal  company.  But  the  only  persons  who 

173 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ever  made  any  money  out  of  the  enterprise 
were  the  dishonest  men  in  high  positions  who 
took  advantage  alike  of  the  unsuspecting  op- 
timism of  de  Lesseps  and  the  faith  of  the  pub- 
lic in  his  fame.  They  drew  large  salaries  and 
lived  like  princes,  while,  for  want  of  proper 
management  the  money  expended  for  lahor  and 
machinery  on  the  isthmus  was  for  the  most  part 
thrown  away.  Many  of  the  tools  imported 
were  suited  to  shoveling  sand,  not  to  removing 
rock.  The  matter  of  transportation  for  men 
and  supplies  seemed  not  to  have  been  consid- 
ered at  all.  And  the  engineers  and  workmen 
fell  prey  in  large  numbers  to  yellow  fever  and 
malaria,  for  at  that  time  it  was  not  known  that 
the  mosquito  was  responsible  for  the  spread  of 
these  diseases.  Even  the  splendid  hospitals 
built  by  the  French  provided  favorable  breed- 
ing-places for  the  carriers  of  the  fever  germs. 
The  success  of  any  large  enterprise  depends 
above  everything  else  on  the  skilful  handling  of 
the  problems  of  human  engineering.  For  the 
quality  of  any  work  depends  on  the  character 
of  the  workers.  This  means  that  a  master  of 
any  great  undertaking  that  involves  the  labor  of 

174 


GEOEGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

many  must  first  of  all  be  a  master  of  men.  The 
successful  engineer  of  the  Panama  Canal  had 
not  only  to  secure  the  loyalty  and  cooperation 
of  all  the  workers  of  many  races  and  prejudices, 
but  also  to  provide  comfortable  houses,  whole- 
some food,  and  healthful  living  conditions,  alike 
for  body  and  mind,  of  his  army  of  workers. 
The  French  did  not  know  the  country  in  which 
they  worked — the  difficulties  and  dangers  it 
presented.  They  did  not  know  the  men  who 
worked  for  them — their  needs  and  how  to  meet 
them.  They  did  not  know  the  men  they  worked 
with — their  inefficiency  and  graft  and  how  to 
forestall  them.  The  de  Lesseps  enterprise 
was,  therefore,  doomed  to  failure.  After  ex- 
pending $260,000,000  (more  than  twice  as  much 
as  the  entire  cost  of  Suez)  in  nine  years,  less 
than  a  quarter  of  the  canal  was  dug  and  the 
chief  problems,  presented  by  the  unruly  Chag- 
res  Eiver  and  the  floods  of  the  rainy  season, 
were  still  untouched. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  describe  the  disorderly 
retreat  of  the  French  forces,  who  hastily  aban- 
doned work  and  workers,  tools  and  machines, 
like  so  much  wreckage  of  a  hopeless  disaster. 

175 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

Some  of  the  rascals  and  swindlers  were  pun- 
ished ;  many  others  escaped.  The  aged  de  Les- 
seps — acclaimed  as  a  hero  yesterday,  de- 
nounced as  a  traitor  to-day — died  of  a  broken 
heart.  Thousands  of  poor  people  lost  their 
little  savings  and  with  them  their  hope  of  com- 
fort in  their  old  age.  When  the  United  States 
offered  to  pay  forty  million  dollars  for  all  that 
the  French  company  had  accomplished,  and  all 
that  it  possessed  in  the  way  of  equipment,  plans, 
and  privileges,  the  stockholders  were  only  too 
glad  to  close  the  bargain. 

The  whole  story  of  how  the  United  States 
went  about  this  world  job  makes  one  of  the  most 
interesting  chapters  of  our  history.  It  is,  how- 
ever, " another  story."  We  cannot  here  go 
into  the  matter  of  how  Panama  became  a 
republic  independent  of  Colombia,  and  how 
the  United  States  purchased  for  ten  million  dol- 
lars a  strip  of  land  ten  miles  wide,  five  miles 
on  either  side  of  the  canal,  across  the  isthmus. 
This  Canal  Zone  is  "as  much  the  territory  of 
the  United  States  as  the  parade-ground  at  West 
Point,"  the  ports  of  Balboa  and  Cristobal  are 

176 


Major  Goethals,  as  Chairman  of  the  Isthmian  Canal  Commission, 
Washington,  D.  C.,  1908 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

American,  and  the  United  States  holds  the 
right  to  enforce  sanitary  regulations  in  the 
cities  of  Panama  and  Colon  at  either  end  of  the 
canal  and  to  preserve  order  when  the  Panama 
authorities  prove  unequal  to  the  task. 

The  shout  went  up  from  all  over  America: 
"Make  the  dirt  fly!  Show  what  the  spirit  of 
'get  there'  and  Yankee  grit  can  do!"  Of 
course,  the  temptation  to  produce  immediate  re- 
sults was  great.  But  the  clear-seeing  men  in 
control  said:  "There  must  be  no  headlong 
rush  this  time.  We  will  be  content  to  make 
haste  slowly  and  take  steps  to  prevent  the  evils 
that  have  defeated  those  who  have  gone  before. 
We  must  clean  the  cities,  drain  the  swamps, 
make  clearings  in  the  rank  growth  of  the  jun- 
gles. We  must  make  a  place  even  in  the  trop- 
ics where  health  and  happy  human  living  are 
possible." 

But  the  '  *  clean-up ' '  slogan  was  not  able  alone 
to  conquer  the  specter  of  disease.  Yellow  fever 
still  haunted  the  sanitary  streets  and  byways. 
Only  through  the  heroism  of  brave  men  who 
loved  their  neighbors  better  than  themselves 

179 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

and  who  were  willing  to  die  that  others  might 
live  was  the  secret  learned.  The  experiments 
to  which  they  gladly  offered  up  their  lives 
proved  that  the  bite  of  a  particular  kind  of  mos- 
quito was  responsible  for  the  spread  of  the  dis- 
ease, and  that,  if  this  insect  could  be  destroyed, 
yellow  fever  would  be  destroyed  with  it.  Colo- 
nel Gorgas,  the  chief  sanitary  officer,  whose 
watchword  was  "First  prevent,  then  curb,  and, 
when  all  else  fails,  cure, ' '  was  the  leader  in  the 
fight  for  healthful  conditions  on  the  isthmus. 

But  all  this  time  we  have  been  talking  much 
about  the  battle-ground  and  little  about  the 
general  who  led  the  forces  to  victory. 

It  was  clear  that  the  time  was  ripe.  The 
moment  cried  out  for  a  man  of  power — one 
whose  might  as  an  engineer  could  command  the 
forces  of  earth  and  ocean,  and  whose  under- 
standing of  the  even  more  difficult  problems  of 
human  engineering  would  make  him  a  true 
leader  of  men. 

In  1905  Mr.  Taft,  who  was  at  that  time  secre- 
tary of  war,  journeyed  to  Panama  to  see  how 
the  work  was  going  forward  and  to  plan  for 
the  fortifications  of  the  canal.  He  took  with 

180 


him  an  officer  of  engineers,  a  tall,  vigorous  man 
of  forty  seven,  with  gray  hair,  a  strong,  youth- 
ful, bronzed  face,  and  clear,  direct,  blue  eyes. 
No  trumpet  sounded  before  Major  Goethals  to 
announce  the  man  of  the  hour — the  one  whom 
destiny  and  experience  had  equipped  for  the 
great  work.  He  studied  every  phase  of  the 
giant  enterprise,  and,  when  he  returned  to 
Washington,  prepared  a  report  that  showed 
not  only  a  thorough  understanding  of  every  de- 
tail, but  also  a  broad  comprehension  of  the 
problems  of  the  whole.  His  recommendation 
of  a  lock  canal  was  submitted  by  the  secretary 
of  war  to  the  President,  and  with  it  went  Mr. 
Taft's  recommendation  of  Major  Goethals  for 
the  position  of  chief  engineer.  Experience  had 
proved  that  divided  authority  and  changes  in 
policy  through  changes  in  management  were 
serious  drawbacks. 

"If  I  can  find  an  army  officer  equal  to  the 
job,  he  will  have  to  fight  the  thing  out  to  the 
finish,"  said  President  Roosevelt.  "He  must 
manage  the  work  on  the  spot,  not  from  an  office 
in  Washington.  He  must  be  given  full  power 
to  act  and  to  control ;  and  he  must  be  a  man  big 

181 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

enough  to  realize  that  large  authority  means 
only  large  responsibility." 

After  carefully  considering  Major  Goethals' 
record  and  reports  and  then  talking  with  the 
man  himself,  the  President  became  convinced 
that  he  had  found  the  right  chief  for  the  work 
and  the  army  of  workers.  But  when  it  was 
generally  known  that  an  army  officer  was  to 
command  at  Panama,  people  shook  their  heads. 
' '  The  high-handed  methods  of  the  military  will 
never  succeed  there,"  they  said.  " Shoulder- 
straps  cannot  do  the  work!" 

On  the  occasion  of  Major  Goethals'  first  ap- 
pearance before  his  staff  of  engineers  and 
other  assistants  it  was  very  clear  that  they 
looked  upon  the  departure  of  their  late  chief, 
Mr.  Stevens,  with  regret  that  became  keener  as 
they  anticipated  the  formality  and  rigors  of 
military  control.  When  it  was  the  new  lead- 
er's turn  to  speak  they  faced  him  silently. 
Major  Goethals  stood  tall  and  firm  like  a  true 
descendant  of  the  "Good  Neck"  of  old,  but  he 
looked  them  in  the  eyes  frankly  and  pleasantly. 

"There  will  be  no  militarism  and  no  salutes  in 
Panama, ' '  he  said.  * '  I  have  left  my  uniform  in 

182 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

moth-balls  at  home,  and  with  it  I  have  left  be- 
hind military  duties  and  fashions.  We  are  here 
to  fight  nature  shoulder  to  shoulder.  Your 
cause  is  my  cause.  We  have  common  enemies 
— Culebra  Cut  and  the  climate ;  and  the  comple- 
tion of  the  canal  will  be  our  victory.  I  intend 
to  be  the  commanding  officer,  but  the  chiefs  of 
division  will  be  the  colonels,  the  foremen  the 
captains,  and  no  man  who  does  his  duty  has 
aught  to  fear  from  militarism." 

Let  us  see  how  they  went  against  the  first 
enemy,  Culebra  Cut ;  the  channel  that  was  to  be 
made  through  the  formidable  "peak  in  Darien" 
known  as  Culebra  Mountain.  It  is  only  seven 
o'clock,  but  the  chief  engineer — Colonel  Goe- 
thals,  now — is  at  the  station  ready  to  take  the 
early  train. 

"Suppose  we  walk  through  the  tunnel,'*  he 
remarks.  * '  You  know  the  dirt-trains  have  right 
of  way  in  Panama.  We  should  hesitate  to  de- 
lay one  even  for  the  President  of  the  [United 
States  or  the  Czar  of  all  the  Russias." 

At  the  end  of  the  tunnel  a  car  that  looks  like 
a  limousine  turned  switch-engine  is  waiting  on 
a  siding  for  the  "boss  of  the  job."  Painted 

183 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

light  yellow,  like  the  passenger-cars  of  the  Pan- 
ama Railroad,  it  is  known  among  the  men  as  the 
"Yellow  Peril,"  or  the  " Brain-wagon."  But 
if  any  one  expects,  as  a  matter  of  course,  to  see 
the  colonel  in  the  "Yellow  Peril,"  he  is  as  likely 
as  not  doomed  to  disappointment.  The  chief 
engineer  drops  off,  now  to  see  men  drilling  holes 
for  dynamite,  now  to  watch  the  loading  of  the 
dirt-trains  from  the  great  steam-shovels. 

As  we  see  the  solid  rock  and  rocklike  earth  of 
Culebra  we  realize  that  without  dynamite  the 
canal  would  be  impossible.  Let  us  watch  for  a 
moment  the  tearing  down  of  the  "everlasting 
hill. "  Deafening  machine-drills  pierce  the  rock 
or  hard  soil  with  holes  from  three  to  thirty  or 
forty  feet  in  depth.  These  holes,  which  have 
been  carefully  arranged  so  as  to  insure  the 
greatest  effect  in  an  earth-quaking,  rock-break- 
ing way,  are  filled  with  dynamite  and  then  con- 
nected with  an  electric  wire  so  that  the  pressure 
of  a  button  will  set  off  the  entire  charge.  A 
rumble  and  then  a  roar — the  earth  trembles — 
heaves — then  great  masses  of  rock,  mud,  and 
water  are  hurled  high  in  the  air.  A  fraction  of 
Culebra  larger  than  a  six-  or  seven-story  build- 

184 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

ing  is  frequently  torn  down  by  one  of  these  ex- 
plosions and  the  rock  broken  into  pieces  that  can 
be  seized  by  the  steam-shovels  and  loaded  on 
the  dump-cars. 

It  is  interesting  to  see  how,  through  an  in- 
genious arrangement  of  the  network  of  tracks, 
the  loaded  cars  always  go  on  the  down  grade 
and  only  empty  trains  have  to  crawl  up  an  in- 
cline. Much  of  the  rock  taken  from  the  cut  is 
used  to  build  the  great  Gatun  Dam,  that  keeps 
the  troublesome  Chagres  Kiver  from  flooding 
the  canal.  The  rest  goes  to  the  construction  of 
breakwaters  at  the  ends  of  the  waterway  or  to 
the  filling  of  swamps  and  valleys. 

The  "brain-wagon"  is  going  along  without 
the  head.  He  is  climbing  blithely  over  the 
roughest  sort  of  ground,  now  dodging  onrush- 
ing  dirt-trains,  now  running  to  shelter  with  the 
"powder-men"  at  the  moment  of  blasting.  A 
question  here,  a  word  there,  and  on  he  goes.  It 
seems  as  if  even  the  steam-shovels  know  that 
there  is  a  masterhand  at  the  helm  and  vie  with 
one  another  to  see  which  can  take  up  the  most 
earth  at  a  bite.  You  would  think  any  man 
would  be  completely  played  out  after  such  con- 

185 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

stant  jumping  and  climbing  under  the  hot  rays 
of  a  tropical  sun,  as  the  hours  draw  near  to 
noon,  but  the  colonel  pulls  up  the  long  flight  of 
steps  that  lead  from  the  cut  and  remarks 
briskly,  "Nothing  like  a  little  exercise  every 
morning  to  keep  your  health  in  this  climate ! ' ' 

"  There  never  was  such  a  man  for  being  on 
the  job!"  exclaimed  one  of  his  foremen,  admir- 
ingly. "The  only  time  the  colonel  isn't  work- 
ing is  from  ten  p.  M.  to  five  A.  M.,  when  he  is 
asleep." 

No  despotic  monarch  in  his  inherited  king- 
dom ever  had  more  absolute  power  than  had  the 
Man  of  Panama.  The  men  from  the  chiefs  of 
divisions  down  to  the  last  Jamaican  negro  on 
the  line  realized  that  he  was  master  of  the  busi- 
ness and  that  his  orders  sprang  from  a  thor- 
ough understanding  of  conditions  and  a  large 
grasp  of  the  whole.  He  was  a  successful  engi- 
neer, however,  not  only  because  he  knew  the 
forces  of  nature  that  they  were  working  to  con- 
quer in  Panama,  but  also  the  human  nature  he 
was  working  with.  He  knew  that  no  chain  is 
stronger  than  its  weakest  link,  and  that  no  mat- 
ter how  perfect  his  plans  and  how  powerful  his 

186 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

huge  machines  and  engines,  the  success  he 
strove  for  would  depend  first  of  all  on  the 
character  and  the  cooperation  of  the  work- 
ers. 

"The  real  engineer  must  above  all  feel  the 
vital  importance  of  the  human  side  of  engineer- 
ing work, ' '  he  declared.  *  *  The  man  who  would 
move  mountains  and  make  the  flow  of  rivers 
serve  human  ends  must  first  be  a  master  of  hu- 
man construction." 

He  knew  that  if  there  were  to  be  able  and  will- 
ing workers  in  Panama,  they  must  be  provided 
with  the  means  of  comfortable  and  contented 
living.  It  was  not  enough  to  defeat  death  in 
the  form  of  plague  and  fever ;  it  was  necessary 
to  make  life  worth  while.  For  man  could  not 
live  by  work  alone  in  a  land  of  swamps  and 
jungles.  Houses  with  screened  porches,  with 
gardens,  and  all  the  comforts  and  conveniences 
to  be  found  at  home  were  provided  for  the  five 
thousand  American  engineers,  clerks,  and  fore- 
men. Ships  with  cold-storage  equipment 
brought  food  supplies  from  New  York  or  New 
Orleans,  and  every  morning  a  long  train  of  re- 
frigerator-cars steamed  across  the  isthmus  car- 

187 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

rying  fresh  provisions  to  all  the  hotels,  town 
commissaries,  and  camps. 

"You  needn't  pity  us  because  we  live  in  the 
Zone,"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "We  get  just  as  good 
meat  and  green  vegetables  as  you  can  in  market 
and  at  wholesale  prices.  Our  house  is  rent  free, 
with  furniture,  linen,  and  silverware  provided. 
We  have  electric  lights  and  a  telephone.  We 
even  have  ice-cream  soda  and  the  movies ! ' ' 

The  Man  of  Panama  knew  that  all  work  and 
no  play  would  not  only  make  Jack  a  dull  boy, 
but  also  a  poor  workman.  Recreation  build- 
ings were  provided  where  one  could  enjoy  bas- 
ket-ball, squash,  bowling,  or  read  the  latest 
books  and  magazines.  There  were  clubs  for 
men  and  for  women,  ban.d  concerts,  and  a  base- 
ball league. 

"The  colonel  not  only  gave  time  and  thought 
to  the  things  that  kept  us  contented  and  fit," 
one  of  the  engineers  said,  "but  he  always  had 
time  for  everybody  who  felt  he  wanted  a  word 
with  him.  The  man  who  was  handling  the  big- 
gest job  in  the  world  nevertheless  seemed  to 
think  it  was  worth  while  to  consider  the  little 

188 


troubles  of  each  man  who  came  along.    Have 
you  heard  the  song  they  sing  in  Panama! 

"Don't  hesitate  to  state  your  case,  the  boss  will  hear  you 

through ; 

It 's  true  he 's  sometimes  busy,  and  has  other  things  to  do, 
But  come  on  Sunday  morning,  and  line  up  with  the  rest,— 
You  '11  maybe  feel  some  better  with  that  grievance  off  your 
chest. 

See  Colonel  Goethals,  tell  Colonel  Goethals, 
It 's  the  only  right  and  proper  thing  to  do. 
Just  write  a  letter,  or,  even  better, 
Arrange  a  little  Sunday  interview." 

The  colonel's  Sunday  mornings  were  remark- 
able occasions.  You  might  see  foregathered 
there  the  most  interesting  variety  of  human 
types  that  could  be  found  together  anywhere  in 
the  world — English,  Spanish,  French,  Italians, 
turbaned  coolies  from  India,  and  American  ne- 
groes. One  man  thinks  that  his  foreman  does 
not  appreciate  his  good  points;  another  comes 
to  present  a  claim  for  an  injury  received  on  a 
steam-shovel.  Mrs.  A.  declares  with  some  feel- 
ing that  she  is  never  given  as  good  cuts  of  meat 
as  Mrs.  B.  enjoys  every  day.  Another  house- 
wife does  n't  see  why,  if  Mrs.  F.  can  get  bread 
from  the  hospital  bakery,  she  can't  as  well;  be- 

189 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

cause  she,  too,  can  appreciate  a  superior  arti- 
cle! 

1 1  Of  course,  many  of  the  things  are  trivial  and 
even  absurd,"  said  the  colonel;  "but  if  some- 
body thinks  his  little  affair  important,  of  course 
it  is — to  him.  And  that  is  the  point,  isn't  it! 
He  feels  better  when  he  has  had  it  out ;  and  if 
it  makes  the  people  any  happier  in  their  exile  to 
have  this  court  of  appeal,  that  is  not  a  thing  to 
be  despised.  Besides,  first  and  last.  I  come  to 
understand  many  things  that  are  really  impor- 
tant from  any  point  of  view." 

"He  is  the  squarest  boss  I  ever  worked  for," 
declared  one  of  the  locomotive  engineers,  "and 
I  '11  tell  you  the  grafters  don't  have  any  show 
with  him.  He  had  a  whole  cargo  of  meat  sent 
back  the  other  day  because  it  was  n't  above  sus- 
picion. I  happen  to  know,  too,  that  he  turned 
back  a  load  of  screening  on  a  prominent  busi- 
ness house  who  thought  that  they  could  save  a 
bit  on  the  copper — that  for  a  government  order 
it  would  never  be  noticed  if  it  was  not  quite 
rust-proof." 

The  canal  was  finished  not  only  in  less  time 
than  had  ever  been  thought  possible,  but  also 

190 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

with  such  honest  and  efficient  administration  of 
every  detail  that  nowadays,  when  the  statement 
is  sometimes  made  that  no  great  public  enter- 
prise can  be  carried  through  without  more  or 
less  mismanagement  and  jobbing,  the  champion 
of  Uncle  Sam's  business  methods  retorts, 
"Look  at  Panama!" 

The  colonel's  quiet  mastery  in  moments  of 
stress  was  perhaps  the  most  interesting  phase 
of  his  human  engineering.  The  representa- 
tives of  a  labor  union  threaten  a  strike  unless 
he  orders  the  release  of  one  of  their  number  who 
has  been  convicted  of  manslaughter.  "When 
will  we  get  our  answer?"  asked  the  spokes- 
man. 

' '  You  have  it  now, ' '  replied  Colonel  Goethals. 
"You  said  that  if  the  man  was  not  out  of  the 
penitentiary  by  seven  this  evening  you  would  all 
quit.  By  calling  up  the  penitentiary  you  will 
learn  that  he  is  still  there.  That  is  your  an- 
swer. It  is  now  ten  minutes  past  seven." 

"But,  Colonel,  you  don't  want  to  tie  up  the 
whole  work?"  protested  the  leader. 

"I  am  not  proposing  to  tie  up  the  work — you 
are  doing  that,"  was  the  reply. 

191 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

"But,  Colonel,  why  can't  you  pardon  the 
man?" 

"I  will  take  no  action  in  response  to  a  mob. 
As  for  your  threat  to  leave  the  service,  I  wish 
to  say  that  every  man  of  you  who  is  not  at  his 
post  to-morrow  morning  will  be  given  his  trans- 
portation to  the  United  States,  and  there  will 
be  no  string  to  it.  He  will  go  out  on  the  first 
steamer  and  he  will  never  come  back. ' ' 

There  was  only  one  man  who  failed  to  report 
the  following  day,  and  he  sent  a  doctor's  certifi- 
cate stating  that  he  was  too  ill  to  be  out  of  bed. 

Human  engineering  was  especially  called  into 
play  when  the  Man  of  Panama  faced  commit- 
tees of  inquiry  and  investigation  from  Congress. 
A  pompous  politician  once  demanded  in  a  chal- 
lenging tone  and  with  a  sharp  eye  on  the  colonel, 
"How  much  cracked  stone  do  you  allow  for  a 
cubic  yard  of  concrete?" 

"One  cubic  yard,"  was  the  reply. 

"You  evidently  do  not  understand  my  ques- 
tion," rejoined  the  investigator  in  the  manner 
of  one  who  is  bent  on  convicting  another  through 
his  own  words.  "How  much  cracked  stone  do 
you  allow  for  a  cubic  yard  of  concrete?" 

192 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

"One  cubic  yard. " 

"But  you  don't  allow  for  the  sand  and  con- 
crete." The  implied  accusation  was  spoken 
with  grave  emphasis. 

"Those  go  into  the  spaces  among  the  cracked 
stone,"  was  the  unruffled  reply.  The  smile  that 
went  around  the  room  was  felt  rather  than 
heard,  but  the  pompous  politician  had  no  fur- 
ther questions. 

This  master  of  men,  who  was  never  known 
to  yield  his  ground  when  he  had  once  taken  a 
stand,  was  always  a  man  of  few  words.  He 
preferred  to  let  acts  and  facts  do  the  talking. 

"You  know,  Colonel  Goethals,"  said  a  prom- 
inent statesman  on  one  occasion,  "a  great  many 
people  think  we  are  never  going  to  carry  this 
job  through  to  the  finish.  What  would  you  say 
when  diplomats  of  the  leading  powers  come  at 
you  with  questions  and  declare  it  will  never  be 
done?" 

"I  wouldn't  say  anything,"  was  the  reply. 

On  another  occasion  the  boss  of  the  job  said: 
"Some  day  in  September,  1913,  I  expect  to  go 
to  Colon  and  take  the  Panama  Eailroad  steamer 
and  put  her  through  the  canal.  If  we  get  all 

193 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

the  way  across,  I  '11  give  it  out  to  the  news- 
papers— if  we  don't,  I  '11  keep  quiet  about  it." 

It  was  said  of  old  that  if  one  had  faith  enough 
he  could  move  mountains.  We  cannot  doubt 
that  the  Man  of  Panama  carried  through  his 
great  work  because  he  had  faith — not  a  passive 
faith  that  hoped  and  waited,  but  an  active  faith- 
fulness that  worked  in  full  confidence  that  des- 
tiny worked  with  him.  And  this  faith  and  loy- 
alty was  a  living  power  that  enkindled  like  faith- 
fulness in  those  who  worked  with  him. 

The  Man  of  Panama  is  General  Goethals  now, 
but  when  any  admirer  would  imply  that  his  gen- 
eralship— his  administration  and  human  en- 
gineering— was  the  chief  factor  in  the  success 
of  the  great  work,  he  invariably  replies  that  he 
was  but  one  man  of  many  working  shoulder  to 
shoulder  in  a  common  cause.  The  simple 
greatness  of  the  " prophet-engineer"  and  leader 
of  men  was  shown  in  the  words  with  which  he 
accepted  the  medal  of  the  National  Geographic 
Society : 

"The  canal  has  been  the  work  of  many,  and 
it  has  been  the  pride  of  Americans  who  have  vis- 
ited the  isthmus  to  find  the  spirit  which  has  ani- 

194 


S'/ku/u  l,u  III-, an 


The   ' '  Man   of  Panama  ' '  at  Panama 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON  GOETHALS 

mated  the  forces.  Every  man  was  doing  the 
particular  part  of  the  work  that  was  necessary 
to  make  it  a  success.  No  chief  of  any  enterprise 
ever  commanded  an  army  that  was  so  loyal,  so 
faithful,  that  gave  its  strength  and  its  blood  to 
the  successful  completion  of  its  task  as  did  the 
canal  forces.  And  so  in  accepting  the  medal 
and  thanking  those  who  confer  it,  I  accept  it  and 
thank  them  in  the  name  of  every  member  of  the 
canal  army." 

Since  the  completion  of  the  canal,  its  master- 
builder  has  been  called  to  serve  his  country  in 
more  than  one  great  crisis.  At  the  time  of  the 
threatened  railroad  strike  in  the  fall  of  1916, 
he  was  made  chairman  of  the  commission  of 
three  appointed  by  President  Wilson  to  investi- 
gate the  working  of  the  eight-hour  law  for  train 
operators,  which  was  the  subject  of  dispute  be- 
tween the  managers  of  the  roads  and  the  men 
who  ran  the  freight-trains.  In  March,  1917, 
he  was  selected  by  Governor  Edge  of  New  Jer- 
sey to  serve  as  advisory  engineer  on  the  con- 
struction of  the  new  fif teen-million-dollar  high- 
way system  of  that  State. 


197 


A  SHEPHERD  OF 

"THE  GREAT  COUNTRY": 

BISHOP  ROWE 


"Love  is  a  bodily  shape;  and  Christian  works  are  no 
more  than  animate  faith  and  love,  as  flowers  are  the  ani- 
mate springtide." 

LONGFELLOW. 


A  SHEPHERD  OF 
"THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

HAVE  you  heard  the  story  of  Offero,  the 
mighty  giant  of  Canaan,  who  made  a  vow 
never  to  serve  any  master  but  the  most  power- 
ful of  all  the  rulers  of  earth  ? 

"As  my  strength  is  great,  so  shall  my  service 
be  great, "  he  said,  "and  my  king  must  be  one 
who  stands  in  fear  of  no  man. ' ' 

He  wandered  over  all  lands,  looking  in  vain 
for  the  greatest  monarch,  for  each  king  plainly 
stood  in  dread  of  some  other  power.  At  length, 
however,  he  was  told  by  a  holy  hermit  that  the 
King  of  kings  was  an  invisible  Lord  who 
reigned  through  love  in  the  hearts  of  men. 

"How  can  I  serve  him?"  asked  Offero. 

"You  must  fast  and  pray,"  answered  the  her- 
mit. 

"Nay,"  cried  Offero,  "not  so!  For  I  should 
then  lose  my  strength  which  is  all  that  I  have 
to  bring  to  his  service." 

For  a  moment  the  holy  hermit  prayed  silently 
201 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

to  be  given  wisdom.  Then  his  face  shone  as  if 
from  a  light  within. 

'  *  There  is  a  river  over  which  many  poor  peo- 
ple must  cross,"  he  said,  "and  there  is  no 
bridge.  The  current  is  often  so  swift  and 
treacherous  at  the  ford  that  even  the  strongest 
are  swept  from  their  feet  and  lost.  With  your 
great  strength  you  could  help  one  and  all  to 
safety.  It  would  be  a  work  of  love — meet  serv- 
ice for  the  Lord  of  Love." 

And  so  Offero,  the  giant,  built  him  a  little  hut 
by  the  side  of  the  stream  and  dwelt  there  all  his 
days,  lending  his  strength  to  all  who  needed  it 
in  the  name  of  the  unseen  King  whom  he  served. 
It  is  said  that  one  night  in  a  wild  storm  a  little 
child  came  praying  to  be  carried  across.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  Offero  knew  what  weakness 
and  faltering  meant.  He  staggered  and  all  but 
fell  in  the  foaming  current. 

"Oh,  little  child,"  he  cried  out  as  he  stumbled, 
panting  and  spent,  to  the  farther  bank,  "never 
before  have  I  borne  such  a  weight !  I  felt  as  if 
I  were  carrying  the  whole  world  on  my  shoul- 
ders!" 

"And  well  you  might,  strong  one,"  said  the 
202 


SHEPHEKD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

child,  ' '  for  you  have  this-  night  carried  the  Mas- 
ter whom  you  serve.  Henceforth  your  name 
shall  be  not  Offero  but  Christopher,  which 
means  one  who  has  carried  Christ." 

And  the  good  giant  was  called  Saint  Christo- 
pher from  that  day.  You  have  perhaps  seen 
pictures  of  him,  for  more  than  one  great  artist 
has  tried  to  paint  the  story  of  his  faithful  serv- 
ice of  love. 

We  are  going  to  hear  to-day  the  story  of  a 
strong  man  of  our  own  time,  who,  like  -Offero 
of  old,  vowed  to  serve  with  his  strength  the 
greatest  Master  of  all — the  King  of  kings.  The 
tale  of  his  life  began  November  20,  1856,  when 
Peter  Trimble  Rowe  was  born  in  Toronto,  Can- 
ada. He  was  a  tall,  sturdy  lad,  who  early 
learned  to  laugh  at  cold  weather  and  strenuous 
days  in  the  open.  The  more  wintry  it  was 
without,  the  more  glowing  the  warmth  within 
his  hardy,  alert  body.  If  you  had  met  him  as 
he  returned  from  a  holiday  afternoon  spent  on 
snow-shoes,  your  pulses  would  have  throbbed 
in  sympathy  with  his  happy,  tingling  vigor. 
You  would  have  felt  as  if  you  had  "warmed 
both  hands  before  the  fire  of  life." 

203 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

He  had  bright  Irish  eyes,  a  ready  Irish  laugh, 
and  the  merry  heart  that  belongs  with  them. 
His  heart  was,  moreover,  as  warm  as  it  was 
glad.  He  laughed  with  people,  not  at  them; 
and  he  had  a  quick  understanding  of  their  trou- 
bles and  difficulties  as  well  as  of  the  fun  that 
lay  near  the  surface  of  things.  This  means 
that  his  heart  caught  the  beat  of  other  hearts, 
and  that  he  early  learned  the  lessons  that  love 
alone  can  teach. 

It  was  while  he  was  still  a  student  that  he 
decided  what  his  life  work  must  be.  '  *  Man  can- 
not live  by  bread  alone" — these  words  had  a 
very  vital  meaning  for  him.  There  were  many 
in  the  world,  he  knew,  who  spent  all  their  days 
struggling  for  bread,  as  if  that  alone  could  sat- 
isfy their  longing  for  life.  Very  simply  he  said 
to  himself:  "I  must  use  my  strength  to  .help 
where  help  is  most  needed.  I  must  go  to  the 
far-off,  frontier  places  where  people  live  and 
die  without  light  and  without  hope." 

As  soon  as  he  had  graduated  from  Trinity 
College,  Toronto,  and  was  ordained  a  minister 
of  the  church,  he  went  as  missionary  to  an  In- 
dian tribe  on  the  northern  shore  of  Lake  Huron. 

204 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

In  caring  for  this  wild,  neglected  flock  the 
young  shepherd  needed  all  his  splendid,  vigor- 
ous health  and  hardihood.  He  went  around  in 
summer  drought  and  winter  storm,  often  sleep- 
ing by  a  camp-fire  or  in  an  Indian  wigwam,  in 
order  that  he  might  bring  the  light  of  a  new 
hope  into  the  dark  lives  of  these  first  Ameri- 
cans. 

"The  Indians  have  learned  little  good  from 
the  white  men  or  from  civilization,"  he  said 
ruefully.  "They  have  acquired  some  of  our 
weaknesses  and  diseases — that  is  about  all." 

He  longed  to  bring  to  them  in  exchange  for 
the  old  free  life  in  their  vast  forests  and  broad 
prairie  country,  a  new  freedom  of  the  spirit 
that  should  enable  them  to  understand  and  use 
the  good  things  in  the  white  man's  world.  Do 
you  think  that  he  tried  to  do  this  through 
preaching?  He  really  did  not  preach  at  all. 
He  lived  with  the  people  and  talked  to  them  as 
a  friend  who  was  ready  to  share  what  he  had 
with  others  on  the  same  trail. 

Do  you  remember  Emerson's  much-quoted 
challenge? — "My  dear  sir,  what  you  are  speaks 
so  loud  that  I  cannot  hear  what  you  are 

205 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

saying. "  What  a  person  is  will  always  be 
heard  above  what  he  says.  In  the  case  of 
Mr.  Rowe,  the  strong,  self-reliant,  sympathetic, 
kindly  spirit  of  the  man  ever  talked  with  a  di- 
rect appeal  to  his  people.  He  tramped  and 
hunted,  canoed  and  fished  with  them,  and  shared 
with  them  the  fortunes  of  the  day  around  the 
evening  camp-fire.  No  one  had  a  cheerier  word 
or  a  heartier  laugh.  They  were  ready  to  hear 
all  that  he  had  to  tell  them  of  the  things  that 
make  life  happier  and  better,  and  of  the  Master 
he  served,  who  loved  his  red  children  no  less 
than  the  white. 

When  the  work  was  well  under  way  on  the 
Indian  reservation,  the  young  man  accepted  the 
call  to  a  new  field  at  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  Michigan. 
Here  he  had  again  the  challenge-  and  inspira- 
tion of  pioneer  work.  There  were  six  members 
of  his  church  when  he  took  charge;  when,  ten 
years  later,  he  left  his  flock  to  another  pastor 
it  numbered  two  hundred  and  fifty.  He  had, 
moreover,  pushed  out  into  the  surrounding 
country  and  established  missions  at  several  dif- 
ferent points.  He  was  sure  that  his  strength 
and  endurance,  his  power  to  conquer  cold,  fa- 

206 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

tigue,  and  other  unfriendly  conditions,  should 
be  used  in  the  greatest  cause  of  all — in  going 
"to  seek  and  save  those  that  are  lost"  in  the 
wild  places  of  the  earth. 

"I  love  battling  with  wind  and  weather  and 
pulling  against  the  stream,"  he  used  to  say. 
"I  was  born  tough,  and  it  's  only  common  sense 
to  put  such  natural  toughness  to  some  real 
use." 

So  it  was  that,  like  Saint  Christopher,  he 
was  resolved  to  serve  his  King  with  his 
strength. 

In  1895,  when  a  bishop  was  wanted  to  take 
charge  of  the  great  unexplored  field  of  all 
Alaska — scattered  white  men  who  had  gone 
there  for  fish,  furs,  or  gold ;  Indian  tribes  in  the 
vast,  trackless  interior;  and  Eskimos  in  the 
far  North  within  the  Arctic  Circle — people  said 
without  hesitation,  "Mr.  Rowe  is  the  man  to  go 
as  shepherd  to  that  country." 

A  bishop,  you  know,  is  an  "overseer,"  one 
who  is  responsible  for  the  welfare  of  the  people 
of  a  certain  district  or  diocese,  as  it  is  called. 
He  is  a  sort  of  first  shepherd,  who  has  general 
charge  of  all  the  flocks  (churches  and  missions), 

207 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

and  who  tries  to  provide  for  those  that  are  with- 
out care.  The  man  to  undertake  this  work  in 
Alaska  would  have  to  be  one  of  the  hardy,  pa- 
tient explorer-missionaries,  like  Father  Mar- 
quette,  who  in  1673  traveled  in  a  birch  canoe 
through  the  Great  Lakes  and  along  the  Missis- 
sippi, ministering  to  the  Indians  and  making  a 
trail  through  the  New  World  wilderness. 

Alaska  is  an  Indian  word  which  means  "the 
Great  Country."  It  is,  indeed,  not  one  but 
many  lands.  Most  people  think  of  it  as  a  wild, 
snow-covered  waste,  whose  arctic  climate  has 
been  braved  by  white  men  only  for  the  sake  of 
its  salmon,  seals,  and  later  for  the  gold  that 
was  found  hidden  away  in  its  frost-locked  soil. 
The  country  along  the  Pacific  coast  is  warmed 
by  the  Japan  current  just  as  the  British  Isles 
are  by  the  Gulf  Stream,  and  its  climate  is  milder 
in  winter  and  cooler  in  summer  than  that  of 
New  England.  It  is  a  land  of  wonderful,  in- 
spiring beauty,  with  lordly,  snow-crowned 
mountain  peaks;  forests  of  enchanting  green- 
ness bordering  clear,  deep  fiords;  and  fields 
bright  with  poppies,  bluebells,  wild  roses,  and 
other  flowers  of  the  most  vivid  coloring.  The 

208 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

interior,  through  which  flows  the  Yukon,  that 
great  highway  of  Alaska,  is  much  colder,  but  it 
is  only  the  northern  portion  reaching  into  the 
Polar  Sea  that  has  the  frigid  conditions  that 
many  people  associate  with  "the  Great  Coun- 
try." 

When  in  early  April,  Bishop  Rowe  took  the 
steamer  from  Seattle  to  Juneau,  Alaska,  he 
found  that  two  hundred  of  his  fellow  passen- 
gers were  bound  for  the  newly  discovered  gold 
fields.  Many  of  them  were  fine,  rugged  fellows 
who  loved  strenuous  endeavor  better  than  easy, 
uneventful  days.  Some  few  of  them  were ' '  roll- 
ing stones"  of  the  sort  that  would  make  trou- 
ble anywhere. 

"When  I  looked  forward  to  what  might  be 
done  for  the  lonely  settlers  and  forlorn  natives 
in  Alaska,"  said  Bishop  Rowe,  "I  did  not  at 
first  realize  that  an  important  part  of  the  work 
would  be  with  the  great  army  of  gold-seekers 
who  suddenly  find  themselves  in  the  midst  of 
hardships,  disappointments,  and  temptations 
that  they  have  never  known  before." 

Of  course  the  men  on  board  were  anxious  to 
learn  everything  they  could  about  the  "Great 

209 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

Country."  Each  person  who  had  been  to 
Alaska  before  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
eager  questioners. 

"It  is  the  richest  country  on  God's  earth," 
declared  a  merchant.  "There  are  no  such 
hauls  of  salmon  and  halibut  anywhere  else. 
"Why,  the  fisheries  alone  are  worth  more  in  one 
year  than  the  paltry  sum  of  $7,200,000  that  we 
paid  Russia  for  Alaska.  And  think  how  the 
people  in  America  made  fun  of  Seward  for  urg- 
ing the  purchase.  Said  it  was  fit  for  nothing 
but  a  polar  bear  picnic  grounds." 

"Was  n't  it  hinted  that  the  United  States  was 
paying  Russia  in  that  way  for  her  friendship 
during  the  Civil  War — by  offering  to  take  a 
frozen  white  elephant  off  her  hands  and  giving 
her  a  few  million  dollars  into  the  bargain?" 
asked  another. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  a  man  who  was  evidently  a 
hunter,  "and  we  're  just  beginning  to  wake  up 
to  the  bargain  we  have.  I  've  been  there  before 
for  the  sport — bear,  moose,  caribou.  You 
never  knew  such  a  happy  hunting  ground  for 
the  chap  who  goes  in  for  big  game.  But  now 
I  'm  for  the  gold  fields.  And,  believe  me,  I  've 

210 


the  start  of  you  other  fellows  in  knowing  what 
I  'm  up  against.  There  are  no  Pullman  sleep- 
ers where  we  are  going,  let  me  tell  you. 
We  '11  have  to  make  our  own  trails  over  snow- 
covered  mountains,  across  glaciers,  and  through 
canons,  but  the  prize  is  there,  boys,  for  those 
who  have  the  grit  to  win  out." 

"You  talk  about  knowing  Alaska,"  put  in  an- 
other, scornfully,  "and  you  see  there  nothing 
but  fish,  big  game,  and  the  chance  to  find  some 
of  the  yellow  dust  that  drives  men  mad.  It  's 
a  fairer  land  than  you  have  ever  even  dreamed 
of,  with  greener  pines  and  nobler  fiords  than 
Norway  can  show,  and  mountains  more  sublime 
than  the  Alps.  Do  you  know  it  's  a  country 
that  will  feed  a  people  and  give  them  homes 
where  the  air  is  fresh  and  fragrant  with  snow, 
sunshine,  and  flowers  ?  You  hunters  and  fishers 
and  prospectors  who  go  to  Alaska  just  to  make 
money  and  then  run  away  to  spend  it,  make  me 
tired.  You  look  upon  that  magnificent  country 
— white  man's  country,  if  there  ever  was  such — 
as  nothing  but  so  much  loot." 

"You  fellows  remind  me  of  the  story  of  the 
blind  men  and  the  elephant,"  said  Bishop 

211 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

Rowe,  with  his  hearty  laugh.  "You  remember 
how  one  felt  a  tusk  and  said  the  creature  was 
just  like  a  spear,  while  the  one  who  touched  the 
side  said  it  was  a  wall,  and  the  last  beggar  who 
chanced  to  get  hold  of  the  tail  said  it  was  like 
a  rope.  There  is  evidently  more  than  one 
Alaska,  and  each  one  knows  only  the  country 
that  he  has  seen.  We  shall  soon  see  for  our- 
selves— what  we  shall  see." 

Of  all  the  men  who  landed  at  Juneau,  Bishop 
Rowe  was  in  a  sense  the  only  real  Alaskan,  for 
he  alone  intended  to  make  his  home  in  the  coun- 
try. Even  the  man  who  had  called  it  "white 
man's  country"  was  going  there  in  the  charac- 
ter of  tourist-reporter  to  take  away  impressions 
of  its  marvelous  scenery;  its  inspiring  con- 
trasts of  gleaming,  snow-capped  peaks  and 
emerald  watersides  vivid  with  many-colored 
blossoms;  its  picturesque  Indian  villages  with 
their  grotesque  totem  poles;  its  gold  "dig- 
gings" with  their  soldiers  of  fortune. 

Everybody  was  busy  getting  together  the 
necessary  outfit  for  the  journey  on  the  trail 
across  the  coast  range  to  the  Yukon,  along 
which  the  adventurers  made  their  way  to  Circle 

212 


Bishop  Peter   T.   Rowe 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

City,  a  mining  center  eight  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  from  Juneau. 

On  April  22,  the  bishop,  with  one  companion, 
left  the  seaport  for  his  first  journey  in  the  land 
of  his  adoption.  Sometimes  he  was  climbing 
steep  mountains  where  he  had  to  dig  out  with 
his  stick  a  foothold  for  each  step ;  sometimes  he 
was  walking  through  narrow  canons  not  more 
than  twelve  or  fourteen  feet  in  width,  where 
overhanging  rocks  and  snow  slides  threatened 
to  crush  him ;  sometimes  he  was  creeping  along 
the  edge  of  cliffs  so  high  and  sheer  that  he  dared 
not  trust  himself  to  look  down;  sometimes  he 
was  treading  warily  over  the  frozen  crust  of  a 
stream  whose  waters  seethed  and  roared  omi- 
nously beneath  the  icy  bridge. 

As  he  pushed  on,  hauling  his  heavy  sled  (it 
weighed,  with  the  camping  outfit  and  provisions, 
four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds),  you  can  imag- 
ine that  he  had  an  appetite  for  his  dinner  of 
toasted  bacon  and  steaming  beans.  Sometimes 
his  gun  would  bring  down  a  wild  duck  to  vary 
this  hearty  fare. 

He  knew  what  it  was,  however,  to  be  too  tired 
to  eat  or  sleep.  That  was  when  he  was  felling 

215 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

trees  and  whipsawing  the  logs  into  boards  for 
a  boat.  The  men  who  had  promised  to  furnish 
him  with  transportation  as  soon  as  the  ice  was 
broken  up  had  not  kept  their  agreement,  and 
he  faced  the  open  season  with  no  means  of  con- 
tinuing his  journey. 

"If  you  '11  just  camp  here  with  us  fellows 
for  a  spell,  comrade, "  said  the  men  in  whose 
company  he  found  himself  at  Carabou  Cross- 
ing, "we  '11  all  pitch  in  and  give  you  a  day's 
help  when  we  Ve  got  our  own  lumber  sawed." 

Then  the  good-natured  miners  had  a  shock 
of  genuine  surprise.  The  preacher  whom  they 
proposed  to  pull  out  of  his  difficulty  proved 
that  he  was  neither  a  tenderfoot  nor  a  shirker. 

"I  think  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do  for  myself 
before  I  ask  you  men  to  come  to  the  rescue," 
he  said. 

The  blows  of  his  ax  resounded  merrily  as  he 
put  himself  to  his  task.  Then  after  the  logs 
were  rolled  on  the  saw-pit  he  whipped  out  the 
lumber  in  something  less  than  two  days.  When 
night  came  his  muscles  ached  but  his  pulses 
sang. 

"What  a  friend  a  tree  is!"  he  said,  smiling 
216 


SHEPHEKD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

happily  at  the  leaping,  crackling  flames. 
* '  Here  it  is  giving  us  a  rousing  fire  and  boughs 
for  our  beds,  as  well  as  lumber  for  our  boats 
and  gum  and  pitch  to  make  them  watertight. " 

The  rude  but  plucky  little  craft  was  finished 
and  mounted  on  runners  to  take  it  to  the  place 
of  launching  before  those  who  had  volunteered 
to  help  him  had  their  own  lumber  sawed.  The 
rough  men  were  much  impressed.  This  mis- 
sionary who  was  not  above  sharing  their  toil 
and  hardships  must  have  a  message  that  was 
worth  hearing.  They  gathered  about  him  with 
respectful  attention  when  he  said: 

"We  're  hundreds  of  miles  from  a  church 
here,  but  that  doesn't  mean  that  we  don't  feel 
the  need  of  one,  does  it?  Let  's  have  a  service 
together  about  the  camp-fire  before  we  go  on 
our  way." 

The  firelight  shone  on  softened  faces  and 
earnest  eyes  as  the  gold  seekers  sat  gazing  up 
at  the  man  who  spoke  to  them  simply  and  fear- 
lessly of  the  treasures  of  the  spirit  which  he 
that  seeks  will  be  sure  to  find. 

' '  You  men  have  given  up  comfort  and  friends 
and  risked  life  itself  to  find  your  golden  treas- 

217 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ure,  ' '  he  said.  * '  Some  of  you  may  win  the  prize 
you  seek;  many  more  may  be  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. Will  you  not  take  with  you 
something  that  will  make  you  strong  to  bear 
either  the  temptations  of  success  or  the  trials 
of  failure?  It  is  yours  for  the  asking;  only 
reach  out  your  hand  and  you  will  touch  it. 

"'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking." 

As  Bishop  Eowe  talked,  his  hearers  seemed 
to  lean  on  his  words  as  naturally  as  one  leans 
on  a  trusty  staff  when  the  way  is  rough  and 
steep.  And  when  he  had  gone,  much  that  he 
had  said  lingered  with  them  through  the  fever- 
ish rush  forward  and  the  long  desolate  winter 
that  followed,  when  the  cracking  ice  and  the 
howling  wolves  alone  broke  the  awful  stillness 
about  their  remote  camp. 

The  steadfast  faith  and  the  cheerful  endur- 
ance of  our  pioneer  missionary  were  tried 
more  than  once  as  he  drew  his  boat,  which 
weighed  with  the  load  of  provisions  some  1400 
pounds,  over  the  frozen  surface  of  a  chain  of 
lakes  where  he  had  to  exercise  ceaseless  vigi- 
lance to  avoid  bad  ice.  Then  there  were  three 

218 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

days  of  ice  breaking  after  the  spring  thaw  was 
well  under  way  before  he  could  begin  to  paddle 
with  the  stream. 

It  was  now  the  pleasantest  time  of  the  year — 
the  time  of  the  long  days  when  you  can  almost 
see  the  grasses  and  flowers  shoot  up  as  they 
take  advantage  of  every  moment  of  life-giving 
sunshine.  The  warm  wind  brought  the  smell 
of  clover  and  the  voice  of  leaping  water-falls. 
It  seemed  as  if  one  could  taste  the  air;  it  was 
so  fresh  with  the  pure  snow  of  the  heights  and 
so  golden-sweet  with  sunshine  and  opening 
blossoms. 

The  paddler  on  the  Yukon,  however,  cannot 
become  too  absorbed  in  the  beauties  by  the  way. 
There  are  dangerous  rapids  and  unexpected 
cross  currents  that  require  a  steady  head  and 
a  strong  hand,  and  the  new  bishop  frequently 
had  reason  to  be  grateful  for  the  skill  in  canoe- 
ing that  he  had  won  in  his  camping  days  in 
Canada. 

If  he  had  been  out  for  game  he  would  have 
found  more  than  one  opportunity  for  a  good 
shot.  There  were  brown  bears  looking  at  him 
from  the  brush  along  the  banks,  and  bears  fish- 

219 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ing  for  salmon  in  the  swift  water.  Sometimes 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  antlered  moose 
among  the  trees,  and  now  and  then  he  saw  an 
eagle  swoop  down  to  seize  a  leaping  fish  in 
its  claws.  Flocks  of  ducks  with  their  funny, 
featherless  broods  scurried  over  the  water,  dis- 
turbed by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  canoe. 

The  bishop  visited  the  Indian  villages  along 
the  stream,  as  well  as  the  missions  that  had 
been  planted  at  various  points  to  minister  to 
the  natives.  Imagine  what  his  cheering  pres- 
ence meant  to  the  lonely  workers  in  the  wilder- 
ness. As  he  went  along  he  was  planning  how 
best  he  might  meet  the  needs  of  the  people  with 
new  missions,  hospitals,  and  schools. 

"Why  is  it  that  all  you  tough,  rough-riding 
Alaskan  fellows  set  such  store  by  this  Bishop 
Rowe?"  a  man  from  Fairbanks  was  asked. 

"Well,  for  one  thing  his  works  have  not  been 
in  words  but  in  deeds,"  was  the  reply.  "Let 
me  tell  you  how  it  was  with  us  when  he  came 
over  the  ice  from  Circle  City  in  the  winter  of 
1903.  He  looked  us  over  and  saw  the  thing 
we  most  needed.  He  saw  no  dollars,  either  in 
sight  or  in  the  future.  He  saw  only  that  a  poor 

220 


SHEPHEKD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

lot  of  human  creatures,  up  against  a  dead-hard 
proposition,  needed  a  hospital.  'You  have  the 
ground,'  said  he;  'you  raise  half  the  money  and 
I  will  leave  the  other  half  for  the  building. 
Then  I  will  take  care  of  the  nurses,  medicines, 
and  everything  else  you  need.'  Of  course  he 
is  for  his  church,  but  he  and  his  church  are 
always  for  their  people — and  their  people  are 
any  that  fare  over  the  trail." 

It  was  soon  said  of  this  master  missionary 
that  he  was  "the  best  musher  in  Alaska," 
"Mush!"  or  "Mush  on!"  is  the  cry  that  the 
men  on  the  winter  trails  give  to  their  dog  teams. 
It  is,  perhaps,  a  corruption  of  the  French  word 
marchons,  which  means  "Go  on!"  There  is 
seldom  a  winter  when  Bishop  Rowe  does  not 
travel  from  one  to  two  thousand  miles  with  his 
team  of  six  huskies  to  visit  his  people. 

Da  you  picture  him  sitting  comfortably 
wrapped  in  fur  robes  on  the  sledge  while  the 
dogs  pull  him  as  well  as  the  store  of  food  for 
the  six  weeks'  journey  on  which  he  is  bound? 
Look  again!  There  he  is  walking  on  snow- 
shoes  ahead  of  the  team  leader;  he  is  "breaking 
trail"  for  the  dogs  who  have  all  they  can  do 

221 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

to  drag  the  laden  sled.  In  order  to  lighten 
their  load  he  selects  a  tree  at  each  camping- 
place  to  serve  as  a  landmark,  and  hides  there 
a  store  of  food  for  the  return  trip. 

4 'That  is  a  plan  that  works  well  unless  the 
sly  wolverines  manage  to  get  on  the  scent  of 
the  cache,"  he  said.  "But  you  must  go  as 
light  as  possible  when  you  travel  over  a  waste 
of  snow,  and  are  forced  at  times  to  cover  forty 
miles  a  day.  It  is  a  trip  that  takes  all  the 
unnecessary  fat  off  you ;  and  you  get  as  strong 
as  a  mule  and  as  hungry  as  a  bear. '  * 

You  would  think  that  the  mountain  climbing, 
canoeing,  and  marching  on  snow-shoes  which 
are  part  of  his  yearly  round  would  be  all  that 
he  could  possibly  need  to  take  off  the  "unneces- 
sary fat"  and  keep  him  in  the  "pink  of  train- 
ing." The  winter  trip  with  the  dog  sledge, 
however,  brings  many  situations  when  life  it- 
self depends  upon  one's  physical  fitness.  In 
preparation  for  those  journeys,  the  bishop 
goes  through  a  regular  series  of  exercises — 
long  distance  running,  hill-climbing,  and  even 
jumping  rope.  The  following  extract  from  one 
of  his  diaries  kept  during  a  six  weeks '  trip  over 

222 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

the  Arctic  waste  when  mountains  and  valleys 
alike  were  muffled  in  a  white  silence,  and  all 
the  streams  were  voiceless,  spell-bound  rivers 
of  ice,  will  show  what  making  the  rounds  in  the 
diocese  of  all  Alaska  means: 

Our  sled  was  loaded  with  robes,  tent,  stove,  axes,  cloth- 
ing, and  food  for  sixteen  days  for  dogs  and  selves.  Wind 
blew  the  snow  like  shot  in  our  faces.  I  kept  ahead  of 
the  dogs,  leading  them,  finding  the  way.  We  had  to  cross 
the  wide  river;  the  great  hummocks  made  this  an  ordeal; 
had  to  use  the  ax  and  break  a  way  for  the  dogs  and  sled. 
In  the  midst  of  it  all  the  dogs  would  stop;  they  could 
not  see;  their  eyes  were  closed  with  the  frost;  so  I  rubbed 
off  the  frost  and  went  on.  The  time  came  when  the  dogs 
would — could — no  longer  face  the  storm.  I  was  forced 
to  make  a  camp.  It  was  not  a  spot  I  would  choose  for 
the  purpose.  The  bank  of  the  river  was  precipitous,  high, 
rocky,  yet  there  was  wood.  I  climbed  one  hundred  feet 
and  picked  out  a  spot  and  made  a  campfire.  Then  re- 
turned to  the  sled,  unharnessed  the  dogs,  got  a  "life  line," 
went  up  and  tied  it  to  a  tree  by  the  fire.  By  means  of 
this  we  got  up  our  robes  and  sufficient  food.  Here  after 
something  to  eat  we  made  a  bed  in  the  snow.  ...  It  was 
a  night  of  shivers.  Froze  our  faces. 

After  a  sleepless  night  we  were  up  before  daybreak.  It 
was  still  blowing  a  gale;  had  some  breakfast;  tried  to 
hitch  the  dogs,  but  they  would  not  face  the  storm,  so  I 
resigned  myself  to  the  situation  and  remained  in  camp. 
It  was  my  birthday,  too.  I  kept  busy  chopping  wood  for 
the  fire.  ...  In  carrying  a  heavy  log  down  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  I  tripped,  fell  many  feet,  and  injured  shoul- 
der slightly. 

223 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

After  another  cold  and  shivering  night  we  found  the 
wind  somewhat  abated  and  without  breakfast  hitched  up 
the  dogs,  packed  sled,  and  were  traveling  before  it  was 
light.  .  .  .  Early  in  the  day  while  piloting  the  way  I  en- 
countered bad  ice,  open  water,  broke  through  and  got  wet. 
After  that  I  felt  my  way  with  ax  in  hand,  snow-shoes 
on  feet,  until  it  grew  dark.  In  the  darkness  I  broke 
through  the  ice  and  escaped  with  some  difficulty.  .  .  . 

A  worker  in  a  lonely  frontier  post  where 
there  were  plentiful  discouragements  once  said : 
* '  When  I  am  tempted  to  think  that  I  am  having 
a  hard  time  I  just  think  of  Bishop  Rowe.  Then 
I  realize  that  it  is  possible  to  feel  that  creature 
comforts  are  not  matters  of  first  importance. 
How  splendidly  he  proves  that  a  man  can  rise 
above  circumstances,  and  still  march  on  and 
laugh  on  no  matter  what  may  be  happening 
about  him  or  to  him!" 

We  have  seen  how  the  Bishop  of  Alaska  fares 
in  winter  when  the  world  is  a  vast  whiteness 
save  only  for  the  heaving  dark  of  the  sea ;  when 
the  avalanches  are  booming  on  the  mountains; 
when  the  winds  are  sweeping  through  the 
canons,  and  all  the  air  is  filled  with  ice-dust. 
What  can  he  accomplish  through  these  journeys 
that  he  should  forego  all  comfort  and  risk  life 
itself! 

224 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

First,  he  brings  light  and  cheer  to  the  home- 
sick miners — to  the  dull-eyed,  discouraged  men 
who  have  struggled  and  toiled  without  success, 
and  to  the  excited,  watchful  ones  who  fear  to 
lose  what  they  have  won. 

"Where  are  all  the  people  going?"  asked  a 
stranger  in  Fairbanks  one  Sunday. 

"Bishop  Rowe  is  here,"  replied  the  hotel 
clerk  smilingly.  "Everybody  turns  out  when 
he  comes  to  town.  You  see,"  he  added 
thoughtfully,  "he  somehow  knows  what  a  man 
needs  no  matter  where  he  is  or  what  he  is. 
There  is  something  that  goes  home  to  each  one 
who  listens." 

But  the  adventurers  from  civilization  are  not 
the  bishop's  chief  care.  His  first  thought  is 
for  the  Indians  and  Eskimos,  who,  if  they  have 
gained  somewhat,  have  suffered  much  through 
the  coming  of  the  white  men  to  their  shores. 

"Our  people  have  for  the  most  part  been 
consistently  engaged  in  plundering  Alaska,"  he 
said.  "We  have  grown  rich  on  its  salmon  and 
furs,  while  the  natives  who  formerly  had  plenty 
feel  the  pinch  of  famine  and  cold.  We  take 
from  the  country  everything  we  can  get  and 

225 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

even  make  the  Indians  pay  a  tax  on  the  trees 
they  cut  down ;  but  we  do  nothing  for  the  land 
in  the  way  of  building  roads  and  bridges,  or 
for  the  people  in  the  way  of  protecting  them 
from  the  evils  that  the  coming  of  the  white  men 
has  brought  upon  them." 

In  so  far  as  it  lies  in  his  power,  the  bishop 
tries  to  atone  for  this  despoiling  of  Alaska  by 
working  whole-heartedly  for  the  natives — teach- 
ing them  more  wholesome  ways  of  living,  giv- 
ing them  food  and  medicine  in  times  of  distress, 
providing  sawmills  to  give  them  work,  intro- 
ducing reindeer  to  supply  clothing  in  the  place 
of  the  seals  that  are  fast  disappearing,  and 
building  churches,  schools,  and  hospitals.  He 
has,  besides,  gone  to  Washington  and  described 
to  the  President  and  the  lawmakers  the  pitiable 
state  of  the  Alaskan  Indians,  and  pleaded  for 
reservations  where  they  could  first  of  all  be 
taught  how  to  maintain  health  under  the  new 
conditions  of  life  that  have  been  forced  upon 
them,  and  then  given  suitable  industrial  train- 
ing and  the  chance  of  earning  a  livelihood.  The 
laws  that  have  been  passed  to  secure  fair  play 
for  the  original  Alaskans  have  been  won  largely 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

through  the  persistent  and  effective  champion- 
ship of  Bishop  Rowe. 

See  him  as  he  journeys  down  the  Yukon  in 
a  scow  loaded  with  lumber  for  a  mission  build- 
ing. He  has  with  him  just  one  helper  and 
three  little  Indian  children  whom  he  is  taking 
to  a  school  at  Anvik.  At  night  he  is  at  the 
bow,  watching  to  guard  against  the  dangers 
of  the  stream.  Sometimes  the  children  wake 
up  and  cry  when  a  great  slide  from  the  bank 
— tons  on  tons  of  rock  and  earth — shoots  into 
the  river  with  a  terrific  boom.  Sometimes, 
when  the  hooting  of  an  owl  or  the  wail  of  a 
wild  beast  pierces  the  stillness  they  huddle  to- 
gether, too  frightened  to  make  a  sound.  Then 
the  good  bishop  stoops  over  and  pats  them  on 
the  head  kindly,  saying  a  comforting  word  or 
two  which  reminds  them  that  nothing  can  pos- 
sibly harm  them  while  he  is  near. 

A  storm  of  rain  and  wind  that  lasts  all  night 
and  all  the  next  day  drenches  them  through  and 
through.  The  children,  who  are  wet  and  cold, 
creep  close  to  their  friend.  "Etah,  etah"  (my 
father),  they  say,  looking  up  at  him  pitifully* 
In  a  flash  he  remembers  that  not  far  off  is  a 

227 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

deserted  log  cabin  which  he  chanced  to  find  on 
a  previous  journey.  Making  a  landing,  they 
follow  him  along  the  bank  and  at  nightfall  reach 
the  blessed  shelter.  Here  they  build  a  rousing 
fire  and  dry  their  clothes.  As  they  sit  about 
the  blazing  logs  they  fancy  that  all  the  sun- 
beams that  had  shone  upon  the  growing  tree 
are  dancing  merrily  in  the  flames.  The  next 
morning  the  sun  comes  out  as  if  to  make  up 
for  all  the  stormy  days  and  nights  that  have 
ever  vexed  weary  travelers,  and  they  go  on 
their  way  with  renewed  courage. 

"The  two  qualities  most  needed  in  Alaska," 
said  Bishop  Bowe,  "are  an  instinct  for  finding 
one's  way,  and  bulldog  grit."  He  certainly 
has  these  two  requisites,  as  well  as  "animate 
faith  and  love."  Wherever  he  goes — to  remote 
Indian  villages  or  Eskimo  igloos;  to  deserted 
mining  centers  whose  numbers  have  dwindled 
from  thousands  to  a  forlorn  score ;  to  thriving 
cities  like  Sitka,  Nome,  and  Fairbanks,  which 
have  electric  lights,  telephones,  and  many  of  the 
luxuries  as  well  as  the  comforts  of  civilization 
— he  brings  a  message  of  hope.  To  those  who 
hunger  without  knowing  what  they  lack,  he 

228 


SHEPHERD  OF  "THE  GREAT  COUNTRY" 

brings  the  Bread  of  Life — the  glad  tidings  of 
a  God  of  love. 

In  1907,  it  was  decided  to  transfer  Bishop 
Rowe  from  his  frontier  post  to  Colorado. 
"You  have  served  faithfully  where  the  laborers 
are  few  and  the  hardships  are  many,"  it  was 
said.  "You  must  now  guard  your  powers  for 
a  long  life  of  service." 

"I  appreciate  with  deep  gratitude  the  kind- 
ness," replied  the  missionary  bishop,  "but  I 
feel  that  in  view  of  present  conditions  I  must 
decline  the  honor  of  the  transfer  and  continue 
in  Alaska,  God  helping  me." 

So  the  Shepherd  of  "the  Great  Country"  is 
faithful  to  his  charge  and  his  flock,  asking  not 
a  lighter  task  but  rather  greater  strength  for 
the  work  that  is  his.  Like  the  giant-saint  of 
the  legend,  he  serves  with  his  might  the  unseen 
King  who  reigns  through  love  in  the  hearts  of 
men. 


229 


A  HERO  OF  FLIGHT: 
SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 


A  tool  is  but  the  extension  of  a  man's  hand,  and  a  ma- 
chine is  but  a  complex  tool.  And  he  that  invents  a  ma- 
chine augments  the  power  of  man  and  the  well-being  of 
mankind. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


A  HERO  OF  FLIGHT 

A  BOY  was  lying  on  his  back  in  a  clover- 
sweet  pasture,  looking  up  dreamily  at 
the  white  clouds  that  were  drifting  about  on 
the  calm  blue  sea  of  the  sky.  The  field  sloped 
down  to  the  beach,  and  the  salt  breath  of  the 
ocean  came  to  him  on  the  passing  breeze.  All 
at  once  his  eye  was  caught  by  something  that 
made  him  start  up  suddenly,  all  alert  attention. 
It  was  a  sea-gull  rising  into  the  air,  its  wings 
flashing  white  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

"How  does  he  do  it?"  he  said  aloud.  "How 
is  it  that  he  can  float  about  like  that  without 
any  effort  I  It  is  just  when  he  begins  to  mount 
into  the  air  that  he  flaps  his  wings ;  now  he  is 
hardly  moving  them  at  all.  He  seems  to  be 
held  up  by  the  air  just  as  a  kite  is!" 

This  was  not  the  first  time  that  young  Samuel 
Langley  had  watched  the  flight  of  the  sea-gulls. 

233 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

And  the  sight  of  a  hawk  circling  above  the  tree- 
tops  could  always  set  him  a-staring. 

1  *  There  must  be  something  about  the  air  that 
makes  it  easy,"  he  pondered.  "The  birds 
know  the  secret,  but  I  can't  even  guess  it!" 

That  night  at  dinner  the  boy  was  more  than 
usually  thoughtful. 

"Father,"  he  said  after  a  long  silence,  "don't 
you  think  it  might  be  possible  for  people  to 
make  some  sort  of  an  airship  thing  to  sail 
through  the  air,  without  any  gas  bag  to  carry 
it  up?" 

"Have  you  heard  that  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  the  law  of  gravity,  son?"  quizzed  the  father, 
banteringly.  "What  goes  up  must  come  down, 
you  know." 

"But,  Father,"  the  boy  persisted,  "the 
hawks  and  gulls  are  much  heavier  than  the  air. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  balloon  sort  about 
them." 

"But  they  have  wings,  my  boy,  and  they 
know  how  to  fly/'  returned  Mr.  Langley,  look- 
ing at  the  lad's  puckered  brow  with  amused 
indulgence. 

"Well,  Father,"  retorted  Sam,  flushing  under 
234 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

the  teasing  smiles  that  were  directed  at  him, 
"I  'm  sure  it 's  not  such  a  joke  after  all.  Why 
shouldn't  people  learn  how  to  make  wings  and 
to  fly!" 

"Come  down  to  earth,  Samuel,  and  don't  get 
too  far  from  the  ground  in  your  wonderings, '  * 
advised  his  father.  "  There  are  enough  prob- 
lems on  the  good  old  earth  to  keep  you  busy. 
Your  idea  has  not  even  the  merit  of  being  new 
and  original.  The  myths  of  Greece  tell  us  that 
'way  back  in  the  legendary  past  people  envied 
the  flight  of  birds.  But  all  those  who  have 
tried  to  do  the  trick  have,  like  Icarus  who  went 
too  near  the  sun  with  his  marvelous  wax  wings, 
come  back  to  earth  rather  too  abruptly  for  com- 
fort." 

As  the  days  went  by,  Samuel  Langley  did 
indeed  turn  his  attention  to  other  questions,  but 
the  problem  suggested  by  the  bird's  flight  was 
not  forgotten.  Years  afterward  when  he  had 
become  one  of  the  most  distinguished  scientists 
of  his  time  he  used  often  to  say:  "Knowledge 
begins  in  wonder.  Set  a  child  to  wondering 
and  you  have  put  him  on  the  road  to  under- 
standing. " 

235 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

He  often  liked  to  recall  the  days  of  his  boy- 
hood when  he  had  first  set  his  feet  on  the  path 
that  led  to  the  great  interests  which  made  his 
life. 

1 1  There  are  two  incidents — little  chance  hap- 
penings, you  might  call  them,  if  you  believe  in 
chance — "  he  said,  "which  took  root  and  grew 
with  the  years.  One  was  my  discovery  of  the 
fascinations  of  my  father's  telescope.  I  re- 
member watching  the  workmen  lay  the  stones 
of  Bunker  Hill  Monument  through  that  glass. 
It  taught  me  the  joy  of  bringing  far-away  things 
into  intimate  nearness.  I  learned  that  the  man 
who  knows  how  to  use  the  magic  glasses  of 
science  can  say,  'Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near!'  " 

The  great  scientist  smiled  musingly  to  him- 
self; he  seemed  to  have  slipped  away  from  his 
friend  and  the  talk  of  the  moment.  Was  he 
back  in  his  boyhood  when  he  first  looked  at  the 
moon's  face  through  his  magic  glass,  or  was 
he  pondering  over  some  new  problem  concern- 
ing sun  spots  which  was  puzzling  learned  as- 
tronomers the  world  over! 

"What  was  the  other  incident  you  spoke  of, 
Professor?"  reminded  his  companion  timidly, 

236 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

for  it  was  not  easy  to  get  Dr.  Langley  to  speak 
about  himself,  and  the  spell  of  this  rare  hour 
might  easily  be  broken. 

"What  is  it! — oh,  yes,"  he  went  on,  picking 
up  the  thread,  "the  other  epoch-making  time 
of  my  young  life  was  the  lazy  hour  when  I  lay 
stretched  out  in  an  open  field  watching  the 
flight  of  the  hawks  and  gulls  circling  overhead. 
I  noted  that  their  wings  were  motionless  except 
when  they  turned  them  at  a  different  angle  to 
meet  a  new  current  of  wind.  I  began  then 
dimly  to  suspect  that  the  invisible  ocean  of  the 
air  was  an  unknown  realm  of  marvelous  pos- 
sibilities. It  may  be  that  that  idle  holiday 
afternoon  had  more  to  do  with  the  serious  work 
of  the  after  years  than  the  plodding  hours  de- 
voted to  Latin  grammar." 

Samuel  Langley  had  a  mind  of  the  wonder- 
ing— not  the  wandering — sort.  Everything 
that  he  saw  set  him  to  questioning,  comparing, 
and  reasoning.  When  he  noticed  the  curious 
way  in  which  nature  has  made  many  creatures 
so  like  the  place  in  which  they  live  that  they 
can  easily  hide  from  their  enemies,  he  said  to 
himself:  "It  is  strange  that  the  insects  which 

237 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

live  in  trees  are  green,  while  those  that  live  on 
the  ground  are  brown.  It  must  be  that  the 
ones  who  were  not  so  luckily  colored  were 
quickly  picked  off,  and  that  only  those  that  can 
hide  in  this  clever  way  are  able  to  hold  their 
own."  When  he  noticed  that  brightly  colored 
flowers  were  not  so  fragrant  as  white  ones,  he 
said,  "The  sweet  blossoms  don't  need  gay  col- 
ors to  attract  their  insect  friends/*  When  he 
saw  early  spring  vegetables  growing  in  a  hot- 
bed, he  said:  "How  does  that  loose  covering 
keep  them  warm?  There  must  be  something 
that  makes  heat  under  there."  Years  later  he 
said,  "I  believe  the  questions  that  I  kept  put- 
ting to  myself  every  time  I  went  by  a  certain 
garden  not  far  from  our  house  marked  the 
starting-point  of  my  investigations  into  the 
work  of  the  sun's  rays  in  heating  the  earth. 
The  day  came  when  the  idea  flashed  upon  me 
that  the  air  surrounding  our  planet  acts  just 
like  a  hotbed,  conserving  enough  warmth  to 
make  possible  the  conditions  of  life  we  require." 
Everything  in  Samuel  Langley's  world — ani- 
mals, plants,  rocks,  air,  and  water — had  its  won- 
der story  and  its  challenge.  There  was  always 

238 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

some  question  to  be  puzzled  over.  Science  was 
not,  however,  the  only  passion  of  his  early  years. 
His  delight  in  beauty  was  just  as  keen  as  his 
thirst  for  knowledge.  He  noted  with  loving 
appreciation  the  changing  lights  and  shades  of 
Nature 's  face.  He  had  an  eye  for  *  *  the  look  of 
things, ' '  which  means  that  he  had  something  of 
a  gift  for  drawing. 

After  completing  the  course  of  the  Boston 
High  School,  he  turned  his  attention  to  civil 
engineering  and  architecture.  t '  I  did  not  go  to 
college  because  I  had  to  think  about  paying  my 
own  way  through  life,"  he  said,  "and  I  argued 
that  a  chap  who  was  fond  of  mathematics  and 
drawing  should  be  able  to  do  some  good  work 
in  the  way  of  building  even  if  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  laying  the  foundation  of  either  fame  or 
fortune.  Besides,  it  seemed  to  me  that  while 
doing  work  that  was  not  uninteresting,  I  should 
be  near  the  things  that  were  already  part  of  my 
life ;  there  would  be  chance  and  encouragement 
for  further  scientific  study." 

Going  to  Chicago  when  he  was  twenty-three 
years  of  age,  Mr.  Langley  worked  for  seven 
years  in  his  chosen  profession,  gaining  in  addi- 

239 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

tion  to  a  comfortable  income,  practical  business 
experience  and  unusual  skill  in  drafting.  All 
this  time  his  interest  in  scientific  problems  was 
pulling  him  away  from  the  beaten  path  of  prac- 
tical achievement.  His  intellect  was  of  the 
hardy,  pioneer  sort  that  longs  to  press  on  where 
man  has  never  ventured — to  make  new  paths, 
not  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  others. 

In  1864  the  young  scientist  of  thirty  years 
determined  upon  a  bold  move.  He  definitely 
retired  from  his  profession,  returned  to  New 
England,  and  for  three  years  devoted  his  time 
to  building  telescopes.  He  knew  something  of 
the  magician's  joy  as  he  planned  and  developed 
the  special  features  of  his  ''magic  glasses." 
The  boy  who  had  thrilled  over  the  marvels  of 
the  starry  heavens  which  his  father's  telescope 
had  revealed  was  alive  within  him,  exulting  to 
find  that  he  could  construct  instruments  many 
times  more  powerful. 

"I  have  never  outgrown  my  love  of  fairy 
books,"  he  said.  "To  one  who  spends  his  time 
with  the  wonders  that  science  reveals,  the  im- 
mortal wonder  tales  of  childhood  seem  truer 
than  any  other  stories.  I  delight  in  the  adven- 

240 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

tures  of  the  youth  Who  had  found  the  cap  of 
invisibility;  then  I  turn  to  my  telescope  which 
brings  the  invisible  into  the  world  that  the  eye 
knows.  Children  and  men  of  science  belong  to 
the  same  realm;  no  one  else  has  the  proper  ap- 
preciation of  true  magic. " 

After  his  close  work  with  the  telescopes,  this 
lover  of  macvels  spent  a  happy  year  in  Europe, 
visiting  observatories,  museums,  and  art  gal- 
leries. It  was  at  this  time  that  he  decided  that 
astronomy  was  to  be  the  serious  business  of 
his  days,  and  art  the  chief  delight  of  his  hours 
of  recreation.  He  was  offered  the  place  of  as- 
sistant in  the  Harvard  Observatory  by  Profes- 
sor Winlock,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  had 
no  university  training. 

1 '  This  self-made  astronomer  has  a  seeing  eye, 
a  careful  hand,  and  the  instinct  for  observa- 
tion, ' '  said  Joseph  Winlock  approvingly.  ' '  Be- 
sides he  has,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  imagina- 
tion to  use  in  a  large  and  constructive  way  the 
facts  that  his  experiments  yield.  He  has  the 
making  of  an  original  scientist. " 

His  feet  once  planted  on  the  first  round  of 
the  ladder  of  expert  knowledge,  advancement 

241 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

was  rapid.  It  might  well  seem  to  many  pass- 
ing strange  that  a  man  who  had  written  noth- 
ing, discovered  nothing,  and  who,  moreover,  had 
no  brilliant  university  record  behind  him,  should 
at  once  win  recognition  from  the  most  learned 
specialists  of  the  day. 

"What  was  there  about  Langley  that  earned 
his  rapid  promotions?"  it  was  asked. 

"There  was  nothing  that  remotely  hinted  at 
influence  or  favoritism,"  said  one  who  knew 
him  well.  "He  was  impersonal  and  retiring 
to  a  degree.  But  he  had  in  rare  combination 
an  open,  alert  mind  and  a  capacity  for  hard 
work." 

After  two  years  at  the  Harvard  Observatory, 
he  went  to  the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis  as 
professor  of  mathematics  and  director  of  the 
observatory.  A  year  later  he  accepted  the  pro- 
fessorship of  astronomy  and  physics  in  the 
Western  University  at  Pittsburg.  For  twenty 
years  he  filled  this  position  and  also  that  of 
director  of  the  Allegheny  Observatory,  which 
under  his  leadership  became  the  center  of  very 
important  work. 

When  he  took  charge  at  the  new  observatory, 
242 


SAMUEL  PIEEPONT  LANGLEY 

he  found  no  apparatus  for  scientific  observa- 
tions beyond  a  telescope,  and  no  funds  avail- 
able for  the  purchase  of  the  absolutely  neces- 
sary instruments.  How  was  he  to  obtain  the 
expensive  tools  which  he  required  for  his  work  ! 

"If  I  can  show  the  practical  importance  of 
astronomical  observations,  the  means  will  be 
forthcoming, "  he  said. 

At  this  moment  a  wonderful  inspiration  came 
to  the  professor.  In  traveling  about  the  coun- 
try he  had  been  strongly  impressed  with  the 
need  of  some  standard  system  of  keeping  time. 
He  believed  that  science  ought  to  be  able  to 
come  to  the  rescue  and  bring  order  out  of  con- 
fusion. 

"This  is  my  chance, "  he  now  said,  as  he 
looked  about  his  empty  observatory.  "If  I  can 
prove  to  the  managers  of  the  Pennsylvania 
Railroad  that  I  can  furnish  them  with  a  time- 
keeping system  that  will  do  away  with  the  in- 
convenience of  changing  time  with  every  forty 
or  fifty  miles  of  travel  and  all  the  troublesome 
reckonings  and  adjustments  which  that  entails, 
I  feel  assured  that  they  will  provide  the  equip- 
ment which  I  need.'* 

243 


HEEOES  OF  TO-DAY 

It  often  happens  that  the  learned  masters  of 
science  are  entirely  removed  in  their  interests 
and  experience  from  the  every-day  world  of 
business.  They  work  in  a  sphere  apart,  and  the 
offices  of  some  practical  middleman  with  an  in- 
ventive turn  of  mind  are  required  to  make  their 
discoveries  of  any  immediate  value.  Professor 
Langley,  on  the  contrary,  had  an  appreciation 
of  the  demands  of  business,  as  well  as  the  vital 
interests  of  science.  He  had  lived  in  both 
worlds.  Now,  through  his  competent  grasp  of 
the  needs  of  such  a  railroad  center  as  Pittsburg, 
where  the  East  and  the  "West  meet,  he  succeeded 
in  working  out  a  plan  that  was  so  sane  and 
practical  that  it  immediately  recommended  it- 
self to  the  busy  men  in  control  of  transporta- 
tion problems.  His  observatory  was  provided 
with  the  apparatus  for  which  he  longed,  and 
twice  a  day  it  automatically  flashed  out  through 
signals,  the  exact  time  to  all  the  stations  on  the 
Pennsylvania  Eailroad,  a  system  controlling 
some  eight  thousand  miles  of  lines.  To  Pro- 
fessor Langley,  more  than  to  any  other  person 
is  due  the  effective  regulation  of  standard  time 
throughout  the  country. 

244 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

During  the  years  of  hard  work  at  Pittsburg, 
Professor  Langley  was  invited  to  join  several 
important  scientific  expeditions.  These  were 
the  holidays  of  his  busy  life.  His  efficient  work 
as  leader  of  a  coast  survey  party  to  Kentucky 
in  1869  to  observe  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  won 
for  him  the  opportunity  to  join  the  government 
expedition  to  Spain  to  study  the  eclipse  of  1870. 
In  the  summer  of  1878,  he  took  a  party  of 
scientists  to  Pike's  Peak,  and  that  winter  he 
went  to  Mt.  Etna  for  some  further  experiments 
on  the  heights.  An  article  called  "  Wintering 
on  Mount  Etna,"  which  appeared  in  the  " At- 
lantic Monthly, ' '  proved  that  he  could  not  only 
do  important  work  in  original  research  but  that 
he  could  also  write  about  it  in  a  way  calculated 
to  appeal  to  the  average  reader. 

During  these  years  Professor  Langley  de- 
voted a  great  deal  of  time  and  thought  to  astro- 
physics. This  science,  which  is  sometimes 
called  "the  new  astronomy,"  is  concerned  with 
special  heat  and  light  problems  of  the  heavenly 
bodies — more  especially,  of  course,  with  investi- 
gations and  measurements  of  the  radiant  en- 
ergy of  the  sun.  To  carry  on  his  experiments 

245 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

he  invented  a  wonderful  electrical  instrument 
called  the  bolometer,  which  is  so  delicately  con- 
structed for  measuring  heat  that  when  one 
draws  near  to  look  at  it  the  warmth  of  his  face 
has  a  perceptible  effect. 

Professor  Langley's  tests  proved  that  the 
lantern  of  the  fire-fly  gives  a  cheaper  form  of 
light  than  is  to  be  found  anywhere  else.  Here 
Nature  has  demonstrated  the  possibility  of  pro- 
viding illumination  with  no  waste  of  energy  in 
heat  or  in  any  other  way.  All  the  force  goes 
into  the  light,  while  man's  devices  for  defeat- 
ing darkness  waste  as  much  as  ninety-nine  per 
cent,  of  the  energy  consumed. 

The  Pittsburg  years  were  rich  in  the  joy  of 
work  well  done,  but  they  gave  little  of  the  in- 
spiration and  stimulus  that  comes  from  con- 
genial companionship.  For  the  most  part,  he 
had  to  content  himself  with  the  society  of  his 
book  friends.  The  number  of  his  solitary  hours 
may  be  to  a  certain  extent  measured  by  the 
astonishing  range  of  his  reading. 

"Why,  Mr.  Langley,  I  do  believe  you  have 
read  every  book  that  ever  was  written!"  said 
an  admiring  young  lady  on  one  occasion. 

246 


Samuel    Pierpont  Langley 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

"Oh,  no,"  he  replied  dryly,  with  the  hint  of 
a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "there  are  six  that  I  have 
not  read — as  yet." 

In  1886,  when  he  was  offered  the  position  of 
assistant  secretary  of  the  Smithsonian  Institu- 
tion at  Washington,  he  accepted  without  hesita- 
tion, because  he  felt  that  he  would  have  a  chance 
for  association  with  his  brother  scientists. 

The  next  year,  when  he  had  succeeded  Pro- 
fessor Baird  as  head  of  the  Institution,  he  at 
once  inaugurated  a  change  in  the  character  of 
its  publications.  "If  the  Smithsonian  is  to  live 
up  to  the  ideal  of  its  founder  'in  increasing 
knowledge  among  men,'  the  written  accounts  of 
its  work  must  be  plain  and  interesting  enough 
to  appeal  to  people  of  ordinary  education  and 
intelligence,"  he  said. 

It  was  largely  due  to  his  efforts  that  the  Na- 
tional Zoological  Park  was  created.  "We  must 
have  not  only  live  books  but  live  specimens," 
he  said.  "The  stuffed  and  mounted  creatures 
are  well  enough  in  their  way,  but  they  have 
monopolized  too  much  attention." 

For  a  while  there  was  a  small  zoo  housed  in 
cages  and  kennels  almost  under  the  eaves  of 

249 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

the  Smithsonian  offices,  until  sufficient  interest 
could  be  aroused  in  Congress  to  secure  a  tract 
of  land  along  Rock  Creek  for  a  national  park. 
Here  at  last  Professor  Langley  realized  his 
dream  of  a  pleasure-ground  for  the  people, 
where  there  might  be  preserved  in  places  like 
their  natural  haunts — on  hillsides,  in  rocky 
caves,  or  along  streams — specimens  of  the  ani- 
mal life  of  the  world,  which  is  in  a  large  meas- 
ure disappearing  before  the  advance  of  man. 
Remembering  how  his  interest  in  scientific 
problems  had  begun  in  his  childhood  when  he 
had  stopped  to  wonder  about  the  things  that 
attracted  his  attention,  Professor  Langley  fitted 
up  a  place  in  the  Smithsonian  especially  for 
children.  Opposite  the  front  door,  in  a  room 
bright  with  sunshine,  singing  birds,  and  aqua- 
riums of  darting  gold-fish,  he  put  the  sort  of 
things  that  all  boys  and  girls  would  like  to 
see.  There  you  may  see  the  largest  and  small- 
est birds  in  the  world,  the  largest  and  smallest 
eggs,  and  specimens  of  the  birds  that  all  chil- 
dren meet  in  their  story-books,  such  as  the 
raven,  rook,  magpie,  skylark,  starling,  and 
nightingale.  There,  too,  are  all  sorts  of  curious 

250 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

nests;  eggs  of  water  birds  that  look  like  peb- 
bles ;  insects  that  exactly  mimic  twigs  or  leaves, 
and  so  can  hide  in  the  most  wonderful  way; 
beautiful  butterflies  and  humming-birds;  and 
shells,  coral,  and  all  kinds  of  curious  creatures 
from  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

It  is  said  that  once  a  lady  who  sat  next  Pro- 
fessor Langley  at  a  dinner-party  and  found  him 
apparently  uninterested  in  all  her  attempts  at 
conversation,  suddenly  asked,  "Is  there  any- 
thing at  all,  Mr.  Wiseman,  which  you  really 
care  to  talk  about!" 

The  professor  roused  himself  from  his  fit  of 
abstraction  with  a  start.  Then  he  smiled  and 
said,  "Yes,  two  things — children  and  f airy- 
tales.  " 

It  was  the  lady's  turn  to  look  surprised  and 
smile. 

"Now  I  understand  how  you  were  able  to 
make  that  Children's  Room  so  exactly  what  it 
should  be,"  she  said.  "Only  some  one  who 
understood  wonder  and  loved  the  wonderful 
could  have  done  it!" 

While  Professor  Langley  was  working  in  this 
way  to  make  the  institution  of  which  he  was 

251 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

head  a  greater  power  for  teaching  and  inspira- 
tion in  the  lives  of  the  people,  he  was  not  re- 
laxing any  of  his  own  efforts  as  a  scientific 
investigator.  An  astrophysical  observatory 
was  founded  and  there  he  went  on  with  his 
special  studies  and  experiments  in  regard  to  the 
properties  of  sunlight.  When  people  wanted  to 
know  the  practical  value  of  his  minute  observa- 
tions he  used  to  say: 

"  All  truth  works  for  man  if  you  give  it  time ; 
the  application  is  never  far  to  seek.  The  ex- 
pert knowledge  of  to-day  becomes  the  inventor's 
tool  to-morrow." 

But  while  he  was  working  over  the  problems 
of  sun-spots,  and  making  drawings  of  the  sur- 
face of  the  sun  that  bear  witness  to  his  patience 
no  less  than  to  his  skill,  he  became  vitally  inter- 
ested in  the  subject  of  mechanical  flight.  For 
at  last  he  had  made  an  opportunity  to  work  on 
the  problem  that  had  fascinated  him  ever  since 
he  was  a  boy.  "  Nature  has  solved  the  prob- 
lem of  flight,  why  not,  man?"  he  said. 

He  soon  became  convinced  that  the  mathe- 
matical formulas  given  in  the  books  concerning 
the  increase  of  power  with  increase  of  velocity 

252 


SAMUEL  PIEEPONT  LANGLEY 

were  all  wrong.  "At  that  rate,  a  swallow 
would  have  to  have  the  strength  of  a  man!" 
he  exclaimed.  He  devised  a  sort  of  whirling 
table  with  surfaces  like  wings  to  test  with  ex- 
actness just  how  much  horse-power  was  re- 
quired to  hold  up  a  surface  of  a  certain  weight 
while  moving  rapidly  through  the  air,  and  by 
this  means  discovered  and  demonstrated  the 
fundamental  law  of  flight,  known  as  Langley's 
Law,  which  tells  us  that  the  faster  a  body  travels 
through  the  air  the  less  is  the  energy  required 
to  keep  it  afloat. 

After  proving  that  birds  are  held  up  like 
kites  by  pressure  of  the  air  against  the  under 
surface  of  their  wings,  he  made  experiments  to 
show  that  their  soaring  flight  is  aided  by  "the 
internal  work  of  the  wind,"  that  is,  by  shifts  in 
the  currents  of  air,  particularly  by  rising 
trends,  which  the  winged  creatures  utilize  by 
instinct.  Watch  a  hawk  as  it  circles  through 
the  air,  dipping  its  wings  now  at  this  angle, 
now  at  that,  and  you  will  realize  that  the  wind 
is  his  true  and  tried  ally.  He  trusts  himself  to 
the  sweep  and  swirl  of  the  air,  just  as  a  swim- 
mer relies  on  the  buoyancy  of  the  water. 

253 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

Having  demonstrated  so  much  through  ex- 
periments with  his  whirling  table,  Dr.  Langley 
determined  to  construct  a  real  flying-machine, 
with  wide-spreading  planes  to  sustain  it  in  the 
air  while  it  was  driven  along  by  a  steam-engine 
which  furnished  power  to  the  propellers.  This 
machine,  which  he  called  an  "aerodrome"  (air 
run),  was  put  to  the  test  on  the  sixth  of  May, 
1896.  Dr.  Alexander  Graham  Bell,  who  was 
present  at  the  trial  and  who  took  pictures  of  the 
machine  in  mid-air,  declared, ' '  No  one  who  wit- 
nessed the  extraordinary  spectacle  of  a  steam- 
engine  flying  with  wings  in  the  air,  like  a  great 
soaring  bird,  could  doubt  for  one  moment  the 
practicability  of  mechanical  flight." 

Now  that  he  had  succeeded  in  solving  the 
problem  from  the  scientific  standpoint,  Profes- 
sor Langley  wished  to  leave  the  task  of  develop- 
ing the  idea  in  a  practical,  commercial  way  to 
others.  There  was,  however,  a  popular  demand 
for  him  to  carry  on  his  experiments  with  a 
model  large  enough  to  carry  a  man,  and  $50,000 
was  appropriated  for  the  purpose  by  the  Gov- 
ernment on  the  recommendation  of  President 

254 


SAMUEL  PIERPONT  LANGLEY 

McKinley  and  the  Board  of  Ordnance  and  For- 
tification of  the  War  Department. 

Professor  Langley  constructed  the  giant  bird- 
machine  and  selected  a  secluded  spot  near  Quan- 
tico  on  the  Potomac  below  Washington  for  the 
trial.  The  place  was  not  remote  enough,  how- 
ever, to  escape  the  watchful  enterprise  of  the 
newspaper  reporters.  A  number  of  them 
flocked  to  the  spot  and  actually  camped  out 
near  the  scene.  When  any  one  approached  the 
great  house-boat  on  which  the  aerodrome  was 
perched  ready  for  launching,  they  got  into  boats 
and  gathered  about  to  see  everything  that 
should  take  place. 

And  now  there  happened  one  of  the  most 
tragic  things  in  all  the  history  of  scientific  en- 
deavor. After  vainly  waiting  for  a  moment  of 
comparative  privacy  for  his  tests,  Dr.  Langley 
decided  that  delay  was  no  longer  possible,  and 
in  the  presence  of  a  cloud  of  unfriendly  wit- 
nesses— who  had  been  irritated  by  the  failure  of 
the  perverse  scientists  to  furnish  " scoops"  for 
their  papers — essayed  the  first  flight. 

A  rocket  shot  up  in  the  air  as  a  signal  to  the 
255 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

inventor's  assistants  to  stand  by  to  give  aid  in 
case  of  mishap.  There  was  a  sound  as  of  the 
whirring  of  many  mighty  wings  when  the  huge 
launching- spring  shot  the  aerodrome  off  from 
its  resting-place  on  the  house-boat.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  enormous  bird-thing  was  in  the  air; 
then,  instead  of  rising  and  soaring,  it  floundered 
helplessly  and  fell  into  the  water.  There  had 
been  a  defect  in  the  launching,  and  the  machine 
did  not  have  a  chance  to  show  what  it  could  do. 
This  so-called  trial  was  really  no  test  at  all. 

The  reporters,  however,  had  an  opportunity 
to  show  what  they  could  do.  The  next  day  all 
the  newspapers  of  the  country  printed  long 
articles  describing  the  spectacular  failure  of 
the  man  of  learning  who  had  left  the  safe  and 
sane  ways  of  scientific  investigation  to  attempt 
the  impossible.  "Langley's  folly,"  they  called 
the  poor  aerodrome.  Men  read  the  story  at 
their  breakfast  tables  and  said  with  a  laugh, 
"  *  Langley's  folly'  indeed!  For  the  choicest 
sort  of  foolishness  you  have  to  go  to  these  fel- 
lows with  the  three-decker  brains ! ' ' 

There  was  such  a  popular  hue  and  cry  that 
Congress  refused  to  allow  any  more  money  to 

256 


SAMUEL  PIEEPONT  LANGLEY 

be  used  on  the  flying-machine  venture.  In  vain 
did  the  men  who  were  really  in  a  position  to 
know  and  judge,  like  Professor  Bell  and  other 
scientists,  say  that  the  seeming  failure  had 
meant  nothing  at  all  but  an  unfortunate  acci- 
dent at  the  moment  of  launching.  The  ridicule 
of  the  crowd  outweighed  the  words  of  the  wise. 
Most  people  felt  just  as  Dr.  Langley's  father 
had  when  his  boy  talked  of  making  a  machine 
that  should  sail  through  the  air  as  a  bird  does. 

Two  years  after  the  failure  of  his  hopes,  Dr. 
Langley  died.  It  was  said  that  his  disappoint- 
ment had  helped  to  bring  on  the  illness  which 
caused  his  death.  He  never  for  a  moment,  how- 
ever, lost  faith  in  the  future  of  his  airship. 

"I  have  done  the  best  I  could  in  a  difficult 
task,"  he  said,  "with  results  which,  it  may  be 
hoped,  will  be  useful  to  others.  The  world 
must  realize  that  a  new  possibility  has  come 
to  it,  and  that  the  great  universal  highway  over- 
head is  soon  to  be  opened." 

While  the  crowd  was  still  laughing  at  the 
absurdity  of  man's  attempting  to  fly,  there  were 
those  who  were  seriously  at  work  on  the  prob- 
lem. After  success  had  crowned  their  efforts 

257 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

and  their  aeroplane  was  the  marvel  of  the  hour, 
the  Wright  brothers  declared  that  it  was  the 
knowledge  that  the  head  of  the  most  prominent 
scientific  institution  in  America  believed  in  the 
possibility  of  human  flight  which  had  led  them 
to  undertake  their  work.  * '  He  recommended  to 
us,  moreover,  the  books  which  enabled  us  to 
form  sane  ideas  at  the  outset, "  they  said.  "It 
was  a  helping  hand  at  a  critical  time,  and  we 
shall  always  be  grateful." 

So  it  was  that  the  work  of  our  hero  of  flight 
was  carried  on,  as  he  had  faith  that  it  would 
be.  Is  it  not  strange  to  reflect  to-day,  when 
aeroplanes  are  used  so  generally  in  the  Great 
War,  that  it  is  only  a  little  more  than  a  decade 
since  people  were  laughing  at  "Langley's 
folly"! 

For  ten  years  the  ill-fated  aerodrome  hung 
suspended  among  the  curiosities  in  the  Na- 
tional Museum.  Then  in  May,  1914,  Mr.  Glenn 
H.  Curtiss  obtained  permission  from  the  Gov- 
ernment to  make  some  trial  flights  in  the  first 
of  the  heavier-than-air  flying  craft.  After 
making  a  brief  skimming  flight  above  the  water 
of  Lake  Keuka,  New  York,  he  declared  that  with 

258 


SAMUEL  PIEBPONT  LANGLEY 

a  more  powerful  engine  the  pioneer  aeroplane 
could  sustain  itself  perfectly  in  the  air. 

Returned  in  triumph  to  the  museum,  it  now 
shares  honors  with  the  models  of  Watt 's  steam- 
engine,  the  first  steam-boat,  and  other  epoch- 
making  inventions.  "Langley's  folly"  is  com- 
pletely vindicated,  and  Samuel  Pierpont  Lang- 
ley  is  to-day  numbered  as  chief  among  the  many 
heroes  of  flight. 


259 


A  POET-SOLDIER:    RUPERT  BROOKE 


If  I  should  die,  think  only  this  of  me: 

That  there 's  some  corner  of  a  foreign  field 
That  is  forever  England.    There  shall  be 

In  that  rich  earth  a  richer  dust  concealed; 
A  dust  whom  England  bore,  shaped,  made  aware, 

Gave,  once,  her  flowers  to  love,  her  ways  to  roam, 
A  body  of  England's,  breathing  English  air, 

Washed  by  the  rivers,  blest  by  suns  of  home. 

RUPERT  BROOKE. 


A  POET-SOLDIEE 

IT  sometimes  happens  that  a  hero  is  remem- 
bered more  for  the  true  man  he  was  than 
for  any  fair  deeds  he  may  have  wrought.  Such 
a  man  was  that  "very  perfect  gentle  knight," 
Sir  Philip  Sidney.  A  scholar  and  a  poet,  a 
courtier  and  a  soldier,  he  walked  with  grave 
men  without  becoming  dull  and  with  kings  with- 
out becoming  vain.  In  the  "spacious  times  of 
great  Elizabeth,"  when  brave  men  like  Gren- 
ville,  Drake,  and  Ealeigh  were  finding  a  new 
world  overseas  for  England,  and  rare  souls 
like  those  of  the  Mermaid  Tavern — Ben  Jonson, 
Christopher  Marlowe,  and  "best  Shakespeare," 
himself — were  building  up  a  mighty  kingdom 
of  the  mind  and  heart,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  a 
bright  figure  in  the  realms  of  high  adventure 
and  of  song. 

It  was  not  because  of  epic  deeds  or  lyric 
verse,  however,  that  all  England  mourned  the 

263 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

death  of  the  young  soldier.  It  is  not  for  his 
sword  or  for  his  song  that  he  lives  in  the  death- 
less company  of  England's  heroes,  but  for  his 
knightly  heart.  The  oft-repeated  tale  of  how, 
mortally  wounded,  he  forgot  his  own  parching 
thirst  and  held  out  the  water  they  brought  him 
to  a  dying  comrade,  with  the  words,  * '  Thy  need 
is  greater  than  mine,"  lives  in  memory  because 
in  it  the  true  Sidney  still  lives. 

This  is  the  story  of  one  who  has  been  called 
the  Sidney  of  our  own  day — a  young  poet  to 
whom  the  gods,  it  seemed,  had  given  all  their 
best  gifts,  graces  of  body  and  of  mind.  When 
it  was  known  that  he  had  gone  to  "do  his  bit" 
in  the  great  war,  people  said  fearfully,  "Death 
loves  a  shining  mark ! ' '  When  news  came  that 
he  was  dead,  it  seemed  as  if  the  shadow  of  loss 
could  never  be  lightened.  Yet  it  is  not  for  the 
song  of  the  poet  or  the  sacrifice  of  the  soldier 
that  he  will  be  remembered,  but  for  something 
rare  and  beautiful  in  the  man  himself  that  won 
the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him. 

They  said  of  Rupert  Brooke,  * '  He  is  the  ideal 
youth  of  England — of  merry  England!"  It 
seemed  as  if  something  of  all  that  was  fair  and 

264 


RUPERT  BROOKE 

brave  and  free  in  English  days  and  English 
ways  had  passed  into  the  bright  blueness  of 
his  eyes,  the  warm  glow  under  the  tan  of  his 
cheeks,  and  the  live,  shining  hair  that  waved 
back  from  his  broad  clear  brow. 

From  the  very  beginning  his  country  took 
him  to  herself.  He  first  saw  the  light  of  a 
summer  day  at  Rugby,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  ivy-covered  turrets  where  that  great  friend 
of  boys,  Thomas  Arnold,  was  headmaster  in 
the  days  of  Tom  Brown.  Rupert's  father  was 
assistant  master  at  the  school,  and  so  the  boy 
grew  up  on  "The  Close,'7  where  the  happy 
haunts  of  many  happy  boys  were  the  charmed 
playground  of  his  earliest  years,  and  the  foot- 
ball field  the  ringing  plain  of  his  first  dreams 
of  glory  and  achievement. 

"What  a  wonderful  world  it  was  to  be  born 
into,  that  little  England  that  was  mine,"  said 
Rupert,  "and  how  it  seemed  as  if  the  days 
were  not  half  long  enough  for  one  to  taste  all 
the  joys  they  brought.  How  I  loved  every- 
thing— sights  and  sounds,  the  feel  and  breath 
of  living,  stirring  things!  I  loved  not  only 
rainbows  and  dewdrops  sparkling  in  cool  flow- 

265 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

ers,  but  also  footprints  in  the  dew  and  washed 
stones  gay  for  an  hour.  Wet  roofs  beneath 
the  lamplight  had  their  gleam  of  enchantment, 
and  the  blue  bitter  smoke  of  an  autumn  fire  was 
like  magic  incense." 

Most  people  have  eyes  to  see  only  that  which 
is  exceptional — the  exclamation  marks  of  na- 
ture's round,  like  sunset,  moonrise,  mountains 
wrapped  in  purple  mists,  or  still  water  under 
a  starry  sky.  They  do  not  see  the  beauty  in 
the  changes  of  the  common  daylight,  in  familiar 
trees,  a  winding  path,  and  a  few  dooryard 
posies. 

But  Rupert  noted  with  lingering  tenderness 
the  shapes  and  colors  of  all  the  simple  daily 
things. 

"White  plates  and  cups,  clean-gleaming, 
Ringed  with  blue  lines;  and  feathery,  faery  dust; 
And  oaks;   and  brown  horse-chestnuts,  glossy-new; 
And  new-peeled  sticks;  and  shining  pools  on  grass; — 
All  these  have  been  my  loves — " 

he  said,  when  dreaming  fondly  and  whimsically 
of  his  boyish  days.  And  how  he  loved  little 
shy,  half -hidden  things — elfin  moss  flowers, 
downy  curled-up  ferns  under  the  dry  leaves, 

266 


KUPERT  BROOKE 

the  musty  smell  of  the  dead  leaves  themselves 
and  of  the  moist,  moldy  earth.  But  he  was 
never  one  of  those  who  must  seek  beauty  in  the 
haunts  of  nature  untouched  by  man.  The 
splendid  copper  beech,  kingly  and  kind,  in  the 
headmaster's  garden,  and  Dr.  Arnold's  own 
fern-leaved  tree,  whose  tender  gleams  and  flick- 
erings  gladdened  every  one  who  lingered  in  its 
shade,  were  dearer  than  any  aloof  forest  mon- 
archs  could  have  been. 

It  seemed  as  if  all  the  things  that  Rupert  saw 
and  loved  somehow  became  part  of  himself. 
Something  of  the  swift  life  of  darting  birds,  of 
quivering  winged  insects,  and  furtive  scurrying 
creatures  in  fur  was  in  the  alert  swiftness  of 
his  lithe  young  body.  One  found  oneself  think- 
ing of  fair  fields  under  a  bright  sky,  of  hedge- 
rows abloom,  of  all  the  singing,  golden  warmth 
that  makes  an  English  summer  sweet,  in  looking 
into  the  glowing  beauty  of  the  boy's  eager 
face. 

"Rupert  can't  be  spoiled  or  he  would  have 
been  long  ago,"  said  one  of  the  Rugby  boys. 
"He  never  stops  to  bother  about  what  people 
say  of  him.  Of  course  a  chap  who  can  play 

267 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

football  and  carry  off  school  honors  at  the  same 
time  has  something  better  to  think  about." 

It  was  true  that  young  Brooke  found  his 
world  full  of  many  absorbing  things.  He  was 
already  entering  upon  the  poet's  kingdom. 
Words,  he  found,  could  work  mighty  spells. 
All  the  rich  pageantry  of  the  days  of  knights 
and  crusaders  passed  before  him  as  a  few  verses 
sounded  in  his  ears.  Another  line — and  he 
saw 

.  .  .  magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas,  in  faery  lands  forlorn. 

How  splendid  it  would  be  to  make  fine,  thrill- 
ing things  live  in  words!  He  knew,  though, 
that  he  could  never  live  in  the  past  or  in  the 
dream  pictures  that  fancy  painted.  His  life 
was  in  the  real  things  of  the  present,  and  his 
song  must  be  of  the  life  he  knew  and  felt. 
Would  he  ever  be  able  to  find  singing  words  for 
all  the  singing  life  about  him  and  within  f 

Sometimes  he  all  but  gave  up  the  trial.  How 
foolish  to  bother  about  writing  poems  when  one 
might  live  them!  A  rush — a  fine  scrimmage — 
a  chance  for  the  goal — life  in  doing — that  was 
better  than  any  printed  page.  As  he  played  on 

268 


EUPEET  BEOOKE 

the  eleven  for  Eugby  it  seemed  as  if  mind  and 
body  were  one.  Life  was  strength  and  swift- 
ness, and  victory  after  effort. 

But  the  young  athlete,  who  knew  the  joy  of 
playing  and  winning  for  his  school,  swept  on 
by  the  cheers  of  his  comrades,  knew  too  the 
joy  in  the  play  of  the  mind,  urged  on  by  the 
secret  longing  of  his  heart.  This  inner  athlete 
"rejoiced  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race"  when 
he  wrote  his  prize  poem,  "The  Bastille."  He 
laughed  to  himself  to  think  of  how  he  had  gone 
to  the  traditions  of  an  old  French  prison  for 
inspiration  for  the  finest,  freest  verse  he  had 
yet  made.  It  was  plain  now  that  he  must  be  a 
poet.  The  things  he  loved  should  find  an  im- 
mortal life  in  his  song.  His  successes  at  cricket 
and  football  could  not  compare  with  this  tri- 
umph. There  was  no  power  like  the  mastery 
of  the  mind. 

Going  from  Eugby  to  Cambridge,  he  soon 
won  an  enviable  reputation  as  a  man  of  parts 
and  a  poet  of  much  promise.  His  keen  appreci- 
ative mind,  his  ready  wit  and  personal  charm, 
made  him  a  favorite  with  the  best  men  of  the 
university. 

269 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

"I  do  not  see  why  he  need  be  a  poet,"  said 
Henry  James,  the  American  novelist  and  critic, 
who  lived  for  many  years  in  England.  "Any 
one  who  can  give  such  all  around  satisfaction 
as  a  human  being  should  not  be  encouraged  to 
specialize.  Surely  one  who  can  be  so  much  that 
makes  life  more  worth  while  for  every  one  who 
knows  him,  ought  not  to  have  to  struggle  to  do 
things. ' ' 

Rupert  had  other  friends  of  this  mind,  but  as 
the  months  went  by  and  the  youth  grew  to  the 
full  stature  of  his  manhood,  the  longing  to 
win  fuller  power  as  a  poet  grew  with  him. 
More  than  ever  it  seemed  the  one  gift  he  would 
have.  Not  as  others  had  sung,  but  a  new  song 
for  a  new  age  would  he  sing.  He  could 
never  be  merely  "an  idle  singer  of  an  empty 
day." 

In  the  meantime  he  carried  off  the  prize  of 
a  fellowship  at  King's  College,  which  gave  him 
means  to  go  on  with  his  study  and  writing. 
Just  as  scholarship  helps  a  student  with  his  col- 
lege expenses,  so  a  fellowship  gives  a  graduate 
an  income  to  enable  him  to  carry  forward  some 
special  work  for  which  he  has  proved  particu- 

270 


RUPERT  BROOKE 

lar  fitness,  and  which  bids  fair  to  be  of  value  to 
the  world. 

The  fellowship  allowed  Rupert  Brooke  to 
study  where  he  would.  He  spent  a  year  in 
Germany — in  Munich  and  Berlin — but  he 
learned  there,  above  everything  else,  a  new  ap- 
preciation of  his  own  England.  In  his  charm- 
ing, whimsical  poem  "Grantchester,"  written 
in  Berlin  in  May,  1912,  he  pictures  his  home  by 
the  river  Cam  in  lilac  time,  and  nothing  in  the 
perfectly  regulated,  efficient  German  world  that 
surrounds  him  can  compare  with  that  place  his 
heart  knows. 

.  .  .  there  the  dews 
Are  soft  beneath  a  morn  of  gold. 
Here  tulips  bloom  as  they  are  told; 
Unkempt  about  those  hedges  blowa 
An  English  unofficial  rose;  .  .  . 
...  I  will  pack,  and  take  a  train, 
And  get  me  to  England  once  again! 
~?or  England's  the  one  land,  I  know, 
Where  men  with   Splendid   Hearts  may  go; 
And  Cambridgeshire,  of  all  England, 
The  shire  for  Men  who  Understand; 
And  of  that  district  I  prefer 
The  lovely  hamlet  Grantchester. 

Once  again  at  home  in  the  cozy  vicarage  at 
Grantchester,  when  he  tired  of  his  book-littered 

271 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

study  he  could  walk  through  the  shadowy  green 
tunnel  that  the  great  chestnut  trees  made  beside 
the  river  and  dream  of  the  poems  that  he  would 
some  day  have  power  to  call  into  being.  More 
than  anything  else  he  loved  to  swim  in  the 
laving  waters  of  "Byron's  Pool,"  at  night  or  in 
the  magic  half-light  of  dawn.  Then  it  seemed 
as  if  the  past  and  the  present  were  one,  and 
as  if  the  shades  of  those  other  poets  who  had 
found  refreshment  and  inspiration  near  that 
same  fair  stream  came  again  to  linger  lovingly 
by  its  waters. 

Still  in  the  dawnlit  waters  cool 
His  ghostly  lordship  swims  his  pool, 
And  tries  the  strokes,  essays  the  tricks, 
Long  learnt  on  Hellespont,  or  Styx. 
Dan  Chaucer  hears  his  river  still 
Chatter  beneath  a  phantom  mill. 
Tennyson  notes,  with  studious  eye, 
How  Cambridge  waters  hurry  by.  .  .  . 
And  in  that  garden,  black  and  white, 
Creep  whispers  through  the  grass  all  night. 

He  felt  himself  in  a  very  real  sense  "heir  of 
all  the  ages"  as  his  body  cut  and  darted  through 
the  water;  the  life  of  the  past  no  less  than  the 
life  of  the  present  surrounded  him,  buoyed  him 

272 


Rupert  Brooke 


EUPERT  BROOKE 

up.  His  clean  strokes  gave  him  a  sense  of 
happy  mastery. 

Diving,  however,  was  another  matter.  Again 
and  again  he  made  the  trial,  but  always  landed 
flat.  The  unfeeling  surface  of  Lord  Byron's 
pool  would  all  but  slap  the  breath  out  of  his 
defenseless  body,  but  he  ever  came  up  gallantly 
to  a  new  plunge  until  his  muscles  had  learned 
their  trick.  What  joy  when  he  won  his  first 
happy  high  dive — "into  cleanness  leaping" 
with  keen  lithe  grace.  That  morning,  sky  and 
water  were  one  tender,  rose-tinged,  rippling 
coolness  of  silver  gray,  and  the  breakfast  spread 
in  the  dewy  garden  was  a  feast  for  gods  and 
heroes.  The  eggs  were  golden  fare  indeed,  and 
the  honey  tasted  of  hawthorn  and  apple  blos- 
soms. 

With  a  like  persistency,  he  practised  diving 
of  another  sort.  Again  and  again  he  essayed 
the  plunge  far  below  the  surface  of  every-day 
thoughts  and  fancies  in  the  hope  of  bringing 
up  the  perfect  pearl  of  his  dreams — a  poem  in 
which  the  white  light  of  truth  should  be  all 
fair-rounded,  pure-gleaming  beauty.  "I  can 
feel  the  one  thing  that  is  worth  while,  and  it 

275 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

seems  as  if  I  had  it  in  my  hand,"  he  mourned, 
"but  when  I  look  there  is  only  a  wisp  of  sea- 
weed, and  a  shell  or  two  with  echoes  in  their 
pearly  coils  of  the  eternal  whisper  of  the 
waves!" 

"Your  life  is  too  much  an  unbroken  round 
of  happy  happenings,"  hinted  one  of  his  friends. 
"If  you  could  run  away  into  the  wilds  for  a 
time — away  from  your  many  admiring  friends 
and  the  chatter  of  afternoon  teas  and  tennis 
courts — you  might  find  yourself  more  in  touch 
with  the  big  things  you  long  for." 

"I  think  I  '11  try  a  trip  to  America,"  resolved 
the  young  poet.  "There  may  be  some  sort  of 
a  new  world  still  to  be  discovered  in  the  States 
or  Canada — or  beyond  among  the  islands  of 
the  South  Seas." 

In  his  "Letters  from  America,"  which  ap- 
peared first  in  the  "Westminster  Gazette"  and 
were  afterward  published  with  a  biographical 
introduction  by  Henry  James,  we  have  some  of 
his  off-hand  impressions  of  the  New  World. 
We  get  glimpses  of  New  York  Harbor  at  night 
and  in  the  early  morning,  as  a  poet  sees  it. 
We  see  the  crowds  and  electric  glaro  of  Broad- 

276 


RUPERT  BROOKE 

way  with  something  of  the  detached  amusement 
that  a  careless  and  idly  curious  traveler  from 
another  planet  might  feel.  And  we  see  a  Har- 
vard-Yale baseball  game  and  the  1913  Com- 
mencement at  Cambridge  with  the  eyes  of  that 
elder  Cambridge  across  the  Atlantic.  This  is 
the  way  the  one-time  cricketer  and  football 
champion  viewed  his  first  "ball  game." 

When  I  had  time  to  observe  the  players,  who  were  prac- 
tising about  the  ground,  I  was  shocked.  They  wear  dust- 
colored  shirts  and  dingy  knickerbockers,  fastened  under 
the  knee,  and  heavy  boots.  They  strike  the  English  eye 
as  being  attired  for  football,  or  a  gladiatorial  combat, 
rather  than  a  summer  game.  The  very  close-fitting  caps, 
with  large  peaks,  give  them  picturesquely  the  appearance 
of  hooligans.  Baseball  is  a  good  game  to  watch,  and  in 
outline  easy  to  understand,  as  it  is  merely  glorified  round- 
ers. A  cricketer  is  fascinated  by  their  rapidity  and  skill 
in  catching  and  throwing.  There  is  excitement  in  the 
game,  but  little  beauty  except  in  the  long-limbed  "pitcher," 
whose  duty  it  is  to  hurl  the  ball  rather  farther  than  the 
length  of  the  cricket-pitch,  as  bewilderingly  as  possible. 
In  his  efforts  to  combine  speed,  mystery,  and  curve,  he  gets 
into  attitudes  of  a  very  novel  and  fantastic,  but  quite 
obvious,  beauty. 

One  queer  feature  of  this  sport  is  that  unoccupied  mem- 
bers of  the  batting  side,  fielders,  and  even  spectators,  are 
accustomed  to  join  in  vocally.  You  have  the  spectacle  of 
the  representatives  of  the  universities  endeavoring  to  frus- 
trate or  unnerve  their  opponents,  at  moments  of  excite- 
ment, by  cries  of  derision  and  mockery,  or  heartening  their 

277 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

own  supporters  and  performers  with  exclamations  of  "Now, 
Joe!"  or  "He's  got  them!"  or  "He's  the  boy!"  At  the 
crises  in  the  fortunes  of  the  game,  the  spectators  take  a 
collective  and  important  part.  The  Athletic  Committee  ap- 
points a  "cheer-leader"  for  the  occasion.  Every  five  or  ten 
minutes  this  gentleman,  a  big,  fine  figure  in  white,  springs 
out  from  his  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  stands,  addresses  the 
multitude  through  a  megaphone  with  a  "One!  Two! 
Three !"  hurls  it  aside,  and,  with  a  wild  flinging  and  swing- 
ing of  his  body  and  arms,  conducts  ten  thousand  voices 
in  the  Harvard  yell.  ...  It  all  seemed  so  wonderfully 
American,  in  its  combination  of  entire  wildness  and  entire 
regulation,  with  the  whole  just  a  trifle  fantastic.  .  .  . 

"The  glimpses  you  give  of  the  *  States'  are 
brief  and,  for  the  most  part,  superficial,"  we 
accused  him,  not  unjustly.  "You  approach 
what  you  are  pleased  to  call  our  *  rag-time  civ- 
ilization* in  a  rag- time  mood.'* 

"You  delightful  Americans  are  too  sensi- 
tive," he  replied  with  his  irresistible  smile. 
"Of  course  no  mere  Briton  could  do  you  justice 
in  a  few  random,  hastily-flung  newspaper  let- 
ters. One  of  these  days  I  hope  to  work  up  these 
trivial  jottings  in  some  more  thoughtful  and 
not  unworthy  fashion." 

He  describes  Niagara  Falls,  the  Canadian 
Rockies,  and  the  South  Seas  with  a  poet's  ap- 
preciation, but  with  an  irrepressible  homesick- 

278 


RUPERT  BROOKE 

ness  for  his  little  England.  He  wonders  and 
admires,  but  misses  the  haunting  echoes  of 
humanity,  the  sense  of  a  loving,  lingering  past, 
that  make  the  English  landscape  dear : 

It  is  indeed  a  new  world.  How  far  away  seem  those 
grassy,  moonlit  places  in  England  that  have  been  Roman 
camps  or  roads,  where  there  is  always  serenity,  and  the 
spirit  of  a  purpose  at  rest,  and  the  sunlight  flashes  upon 
more  than  flint !  Here  one  is  perpetually  a  first-comer.  .  .  . 
The  flowers  are  less  conscious  than  English  flowers,  the 
breezes  have  nothing  to  remember,  and  everything  to  prom- 
ise. There  walk,  as  yet,  no  ghosts  of  lovers  in  Canadian 
lanes.  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  lurking  in  the  heart  of  the 
shadows,  and  no  human  mystery  in  the  colors,  and  neither 
the  same  joy  nor  the  kind  of  peace  in  dawn  and  sunset  that 
older  lands  know.  .  .  . 

In  the  perfect  lazy  content  of  the  South  Pa- 
cific isles,  that  are,  he  says,  "compound  of  all 
legendary  heavens,"  Rupert  Brooke  led  a  bliss- 
ful, lotus-eating  existence.  Nowhere  had  he 
even  imagined  such  serene  bodily  well-being  as 
he  found  darting,  floating,  and  dreaming 
through  the  irised  waves,  lulled  by  the  faint 
thunder  of  the  surf  on  the  distant  reef.  It 
seemed,  too,  that  this  must  be  the  seventh  heaven 
of  song.  If  swimming  and  poetry  had  been 
all,  home  and  friends  might  have  called  in  vain. 

279 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

But  the  young  poet's  love  of  England  was  proof 
against  every  beguiling  lure.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  Tennyson  in  his  " Palace  of  Art,"  after 
showing  pictures  of  every  sort  of  loveliness — 
beautiful,  enchanting,  magical  glimpses  of  many 
lands — turns  at  last  to  this  scene  as  best  of 
all?— 

And  one,  an  English  home — gray  twilight  poured 

On  dewy  pastures,  dewy  trees, 
Softer  than  sleep — all  things  in  order  stored, 

A  haunt  of  ancient  Peace. 

Even  so  Rupert  Brooke,  from  his  South  Sea 
paradise,  longed  for  the  "ancient  peace"  of  the 
old  vicarage  by  the  River  Cam.  Never  for  a 
moment  did  he  forget  that  he  was  England's 
— flesh  of  her  flesh,  soul  of  her  soul. 

Soon  after  his  return  from  his  wander  year, 
before  his  joy  in  all  the  dear  home  ways  had 
lost  any  of  its  new  zest,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
old  comfortable  order  of  things  might  pass 
away  forever.  The  face  of  his  world  was 
changed  in  a  day.  From  a  brand  fired  some- 
how, somewhere,  in  the  mysterious  Balkans,  all 
Europe  was  suddenly  ablaze.  England  awoke 
from  her  preoccupation  with  her  own  family 

280 


EUPEBT  BROOKE 

difficulties — the  Irish  Home-rule  question,  the 
disputes  between  capital  and  labor,  and  the  mili- 
tant suffragettes.  She  could  not  see  Belgium 
and  France  destroyed.  Englishmen  who  had 
been  reading  with  incredulous  amazement  the 
daily  reports  of  the  threatening  violence  of  the 
continental  misunderstanding,  and  congratu- 
lating themselves  on  their  sane  and  secure  aloof- 
ness, awoke  to  find  that  they  were  at  war  with 
Germany  and  Austria. 

Rupert  Brooke  was  camping  out  that  fateful 
August  of  1914  in  a  place  remote  from  news- 
papers with  their  rumors  of  war.  Away  on  a 
sailing  trip,  he  heard  no  news  of  any  sort  for 
the  space  of  four  days.  Then  on  his  return, 
as  he  stepped  out  on  the  beach  with  singing 
pulses  and  the  happy  tang  of  the  salt  spray 
on  his  lips,  a  telegram  was  put  in  his  hands: 
"We  're  at  war  with  Germany.  England  has 
joined  France  and  Russia,"  it  read. 

It  was  as  if  all  the  winds  of  heaven  had  passed 
in  a  moment  into  a  dreadful,  breathless  calm. 
In  the  stunned  and  sultry  stillness  that  en- 
gulfed him,  his  whole  being  hung  helpless  like 
an  empty  sail.  He  ate  and  drank  as  one  in  a 

281 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

dream,  and  then  went  out  alone  to  the  top  of 
a  hill  of  gorse,  where  he  sat  looking  broodingly 
at  the  sea  and  trying  to  understand.  Over  and 
over  he  repeated  the  words,  "England  at  war — 
war  with  Germany !  Germany!  ..."  Scraps 
of  memories — pleasant,  appealing,  and  humor- 
ous— floated  by  like  bits  of  remembered  tunes : 
the  convivial  glitter  of  a  Berlin  cafe ;  the  restful 
charm  of  a  quiet-colored  summer  evening  at 
Munich;  the  merry  masquerade  and  revelry  of 
carnival  time;  the  broad  peasant  women  sing- 
ing at  their  work  in  the  fields.  Could  it  be  that 
all  the  wholesome,  friendly  world  he  knew  there 
had  changed — had  become  a  menace,  a  thing 
to  be  hated? 

Not  only  the  Germany  he  knew,  but  the  whole 
world,  was  trembling.  The  earth  was  not  the 
stable  place  of  solid  content  and  cheerful 
achievement  he  had  always  taken  for  granted. 
A  shrinking,  quaking  nightmare  of  change  had 
seized  the  foundations  of  the  universe  in  its 
trembling  grip.  The  months  ahead  loomed 
gaunt  and  strange — no  days  for  happy  work; 
no  quiet  evenings  for  untroubled  friendship  and 
affection;  no  time  to  "loaf  and  invite  one's 

282 


EUPERT  BROOKE 

soul";  no  place  for  play,  for  music,  for  poetry, 
for  anything  that  made  life  worth  living.  An 
age  "of  blood  and  iron'*  had  swallowed  up  the 
golden  age.  England  would  be  merry  England 
no  longer. 

England !  The  name  rang  in  his  ears  like  a 
knell.  England  invaded!  "I  realized  with  a 
sudden  tightening  of  the  heart,"  he  said,  "that 
the  earth  of  England  was  like  a  loved  face,  like 
a  friend's  honor — something  holy.  The  full 
flood  of  what  England  meant  to  my  inmost  self 
swept  me  on  from  thought  to  thought.  Gray, 
uneven  little  fields,  and  small  ancient  hedges 
rushed  before  me,  wild  flowers,  elms  and 
beeches,  gentleness,  sedate  houses  of  red  brick, 
proudly  unassuming,  a  countryside  of  rambling 
hills  and  friendly  copses — the  England  that  had 
given  me  life  and  light!" 

England!  The  name  was  now  a  trumpet 
call !  What  were  the  piping  times  of  peace  to 
this  great  moment  when  he  could  go  out  as 
England's  son  to  meet  her  foes,  to  keep  her 
sacred  soil  safe  from  the  invaders'  tread? 
Aloud  he  said  grimly,  "Well,  if  Armageddon  'a 
on,  I  suppose  one  should  be  there." 

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HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

It  seemed  to  many  as  if  this  terrible  war 
must  indeed  be  the  mysterious  Armageddon, 
darkly  foreshadowed  in  the  Book  of  Revelation 
as  the  war  of  wars,  when  the  "kings  of  the 
earth  and  the  whole  world"  should  gather  for 
the  battle  that  would  usher  in  the  great  day 
of  God.  It  was  to  be  the  war  to  end  war. 

Rupert  Brooke,  a  sub-lieutenant  of  the  Royal 
Naval  Division,  was  one  of  that  brave,  futile 
company  of  Englishmen  that  were  hastily  flung 
across  the  Channel  to  the  defense  of  Antwerp. 
Crouching  in  ditches,  rifles  in  hand,  they  waited 
the  approach  of  an  unseen  enemy  whose  big 
guns  were  shelling  the  outer  forts  from  a  point 
beyond  the  horizon  line.  There  was  nothing 
that  the  bravest  could  do  but  lie  there  amid  the 
whistling,  screaming  shells,  and  fall  back  as 
ordered  when  the  range  of  the  heavy  fire  ad- 
vanced. The  battle  was  fought  by  the  great 
cannon  and  the  scouting  aeroplane  that  circled 
high  overhead  and  signaled  the  range  to  the 
distant  battery. 

When  the  forts  crumbled  before  the  bombard- 
ment— pitiful  hopes  of  the  old  order  before  the 
deadly  engines  of  the  new — the  city  was  a  place 

284 


RUPERT  BROOKE 

of  terror  and  desolation.  The  hideous  din  of 
bursting  shells,  the  crash  of  falling  houses  and 
shattering  glass,  mingled  with  the  terrified  cries 
of  distracted  fugitives.  The  young  poet-sol- 
dier, marching  in  a  night  retreat  under  a  black 
sky,  lighted  fitfully  by  the  glare  of  burning  vil- 
lages, saw  the  pathetic  multitude  of  helpless 
refugees  hurrying  eastward.  There  were  two 
small  children  trying  to  help  their  mother  push 
a  wheelbarrow  piled  with  clothing  on  which 
sat  the  feeble,  trembling  grandmother.  An- 
other family  had  loaded  all  their  most  cherished 
possessions  in  a  little  milk-cart,  pulled  by  a 
panting  dog,  while  a  heavy-eyed  lad  of  nine 
pushed  from  behind  and  watched  to  see  that 
nothing  was  dropped  by  the  way.  Aged  peas- 
ants with  bundles  on  their  backs  tottered  by, 
and  mothers  with  tiny  babies  in  their  arms 
trudged  wearily  along,  trying  to  comfort  the 
frightened  children  who  ran  by  their  side  or 
clung  to  their  skirts.  All  had  the  dazed  faces 
of  the  victims  of  flood  or  fire,  who  flee  from  the 
place  that  was  home  to  the  uncertain  refuge  of 
outer  strangeness. 

It  seemed  to  Rupert  Brooke  that  the  suffering 
285 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

he  saw  was  his  own  As  in  the  old  Rugby  time, 
when  everything  that  the  days  brought — honest 
work,  hearty  play,  and  happy  comradeship,  in 
a  fair  English  land  under  peaceful  skies — was 
taken  up  as  food  for  his  eager  life  and  made 
a  part  of  himself,  so  now  it  seemed  that  body 
and  soul  alike  tasted  every  grief  and  distress 
that  can  come  to  helpless  humanity.  There 
were  new  depths  in  the  brave  blue  eyes  that 
had  seen  defeated  hopes  and  yet  never  doubted 
that  right  would  triumph.  The  face  that  had 
before  expressed  promise,  now  showed  power. 

All  through  the  trying  weeks  that  followed 
in  his  training-camp  in  England,  he  carried 
with  him  the  memory  of  those  tragic  days  in 
Belgium.  "I  would  not  forget  if  I  could,"  he 
said  steadily.  "Remembering  is  sharing." 
And  steadily,  with  a  strength  that  ever  cries, 
"We  're  baffled  that  we  may  fight  better!"  he 
looked  past  the  darkness  of  the  present  to  the 
victory  that  his  spirit  saw. 

The  hard  monotony  of  the  days  became  glori- 
ous. All  his  life  was  alight  with  the  fervor  of 
his  love  for  his  native  land  and  his  longing  to 
serve  her.  There  was  room  in  his  heart  for  but 

286 


EUPERT  BROOKE 

one  thought — England !  And  in  the  singleness 
of  his  devotion  he  felt  a  wonderful  peace  that 
outer  happenings  could  not  give  or  take  away. 
He  was  safe  from  the  chances  of  the  changing 
days — safe  with  "things  undying. "  Safe! — 
That  word  which  sometimes  makes  men  craven, 
sounded  in  his  ears  like  a  note  of  triumph ;  and 
the  lines  of  a  new  song  came  to  his  lips : 

"We  have  built  a  house  that  is  not  for  Time's  throwing. 

We  have  gained  a  peace  unshaken  by  pain  forever. 
War  knows  no  power.     Safe  shall  be  my  going, 

Secretly  armed  against  all  death's  endeavor; 
Safe  though  all  safety's  lost;  safe  where  men  fall; 

And  if  these  poor  limbs  die,  safest  of  all." 

A  wonderful  thing  had  happened.  The 
young  soldier  who  had  lost  many  things  those 
first  weeks  of  the  war — carefree  days  and 
nights,  the  joy  and  bright  confidence  of  youth — 
had  found  his  man's  soul.  And  the  maker  of 
verses  had  become  a  true  poet.  In  losing  his 
life  he  had  found  it,  and  found,  too,  the  one  gift 
he  had  long  sought  in  vain. 

Rupert  Brooke  had  learned  to  "see  life  stead- 
ily and  see  it  whole. ' '  The  five  ' '  1914  sonnets ' ' 
have  the  wise  simplicity,  the  deep  feeling,  and 
the  large  vision  that  belong  to  great  poetry. 

287 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

When  the  poet-soldier  embarked  with  the  troops 
that  were  sent  on  the  ill-starred  Dardanelles 
campaign,  he  had  the  joy  of  knowing  that  what- 
ever might  befall,  something  of  his  inmost  life 
would  live  forever  in  immortal  verse  to  stir  the 
hearts  of  living  men. 

He  never  reached  Gallipoli.  On  April  23, 
1915,  the  day  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  George,  he 
died,  not  in  battle,  but  of  illness  on  a  French 
hospital-ship.  Early  in  April  he  had  suffered 
a  sunstroke,  but  had  apparently  recovered. 
Then  it  was  known  that  he  was  the  victim 
of  blood-poisoning.  "Death  loves  a  shining 
mark!"  and  "Whom  the  Gods  love!"—  The 
unspoken  words  gripped  the  hearts  of  his  com- 
rades with  chill  fear,  yet  it  seemed  unbelievable 
that  this  radiant  young  life  should  be  snuffed 
out. 

The  poet,  himself,  had  a  definite  premonition 
of  the  end —  During  the  days  of  fever,  his 
mind  found  now  and  again  a  cool  peace  in  the 
memories  of  the  past.  He  was  a  Eugby  boy 
again.  Now  he  sat  in  the  chapel,  looking  at  the 
light  as  it  fell,  jeweled  green,  blue,  and  ruby- 
red,  through  the  stained  glass  window  of  the 

288 


KUPERT  BROOKE 

Wise  Men,  that  Dr.  Arnold  had  brought  from 
an  old  church  at  Aerschot,  near  Louvain. 
Louvain — Belgium!  He  could  not  lie  there 
quietly;  his  country  needed  him.  He  moved 
suddenly  as  if  about  to  rise,  and  a  nurse  bent 
over  him  anxiously.  But — once  more  he  was 
at  Rugby,  standing  before  the  statue  of  the  au- 
thor of  "Tom  Brown"  and  spelling  out  its  in- 
scription as  he  had  when  a  child :  ' '  Watch  ye. 
Stand  fast  in  the  faith.  Quit  ye  like  men.  Be 
strong." —  Again  he  was  on  the  porch  leading 
to  the  quadrangle  where  the  boys  were  assem- 
bled for  house  singing.  How  the  "Floreat, 
floreat,  floreat,  Rugbeia"  rang  out! 

Was  it  not  getting  very  dark?  He  could 
scarcely  see  the  white  figure  of  the  nurse.  Per- 
haps there  was  going  to  be  a  storm.  .  .  .  He 
remembered  a  hurricane  at  Rugby  when  he  was 
only  eight  years  old — the  "big  storm,"  they  al- 
ways called  it.  Many  of  the  fine  elms  were  laid 
low,  among  others  the  one  survivor  of  Tom 
Brown's  "three  trees." 

* '  Think  of  all  the  years  of  sun  and  wind  that 
have  been  made  into  the  magnificent  strength 
of  that  tree,"  some  one  had  mourned.  "And 

289 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

now  see  it  snapped  like  a  straw  before  the  fury 
of  a  single  hour!'* 

"  Perhaps  it  's  happier  to  go  like  a  warrior  in 
battle,  than  just  to  grow  old  and  die  little  by 
little,"  the  boy  had  said.  He  had  somehow 
dimly  felt  that  the  splendid  spirit  of  the  tree 
— the  life  that  ever  flickered  golden-green  in  the 
sunlight  and  danced  in  joyous  abandon  in  the 
May  breeze — had  fared  forth  on  the  wings  of 
the  wind,  a  part  of  the  brave  spirit  of  things 
that  deathless  goes  on  forever  from  change  to 
change.  .  .  . 

They  buried  him  at  night,  carrying  his  body 
by  torchlight  to  an  olive  grove  on  the  isle  of 
Scyros,  a  mile  inland  on  the  heights.  "If  you 
go  there,"  writes  Mr.  Stephen  Graham,  "you 
will  find  a  little  wooden  cross  with  just  his  name 
and  the  date  of  his  birth  and  his  death  (1887- 
1915)  marked  in  black."  One  who  knew  him 
said,  "Let  his  just  epitaph  be:  'He  went  to  war 
in  the  cause  of  peace  and  died  without  hate  that 
love  might  live. ' 

Better  than  any  inscription  or  memorial, 
however,  are  the  words  of  his  own  poem,  The 
Soldier,  in  which  his  love  for  his  country  still 

290 


RUPERT  BROOKE 

lives.  It  echoes  to-day  in  the  hearts  of  many 
who,  at  their  country's  call,  "go  to  war  in  the 
cause  of  peace." 

And  think,  this  heart,  all  evil  shed  away, 

A  pulse  in  the  eternal  mind,  no  less 

Gives  somewhere  back  the  thoughts  by  England  given; 
Her  sights  and  sounds;  dreams  happy  as  her  day; 
And  laughter,  learnt  of  friends;  and  gentleness, 

In  hearts  at  peace,  under  an  English  heaven. 


291 


A  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD: 
HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 


I  am  a  man,  and  nothing  that  concerns  a  man  do  I  deem 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  me. 

TERENCE. 


A  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD 

THIS  is  the  story  of  a  young  hero  of  to-day 
—of  a  leader  who  has,  we  may  well  hope, 
as  many  rich,  useful  years  before  him  as  those 
that  make  the  tale  we  are  about  to  tell. 

History  is  not  often  willing  to  call  a  man 
happy — or  a  hero — while  life  lies  ahead  of  him. 
Time  can  change  everything.  Time  alone  can 
prove  everything.  We  must  wait  for  the  judg- 
ment of  time,  it  is  said. 

We  feel  very  sure,  however,  of  the  worth  of 
the  work  of  Herbert  Clark  Hoover,  the  man 
who  gave  up  a  business  that  meant  the  director- 
ship of  more  than  125,000  workers  in  order  that 
he  might  give  his  time  and  his  powers  to  the 
task  of  feeding  ten  million  helpless  people  in 
war-ravaged  Belgium  and  northern  France. 

"If  England  could  have  availed  herself  of 
such  talent  for  organization  as  H.  C.  Hoover 
has  displayed  in  feeding  the  Belgians,  we 

295 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

should  be  a  good  year  nearer  the  end  of  the 
war  than  we  are  to-day,"  said  a  prominent 
member  of  the  British  Parliament. 

"There  is  a  man  who  knows  how  to  get  things 
done!"  we  are  hearing  said  on  every  side.  "If 
America  should  feel  the  pinch  of  war  and 
famine,  Mr.  Hoover  could  meet  the  problem  of 
putting  us  on  rations,  and  there  would  be  no 
food  riots." 

Who  is  this  man  who  knows  how  to  do  things  ? 
In  what  school  did  he  learn  how  to  meet  emer- 
gencies and  how  to  manage  men? 

They  tell  us  he  was  a  Quaker  lad,  born  on  an 
Iowa  farm,  who  in  his  early  boyhood  moved  to 
a  farm  in  the  far  West.  Was  it  because  of  this 
early  transplanting — this  change  to  new  scenes, 
new  problems,  new  interests — that  he  learned 
to  see  things  in  a  big  way  and  to  get  a  grip  on 
what  really  matters  in  Iowa,  in  Oregon,  in  the 
world? 

"The  first  thing  you  think  about  Hoover," 
said  a  man  who  knew  him  in  college, ' '  is  that  he 
is  a  free  soul  and  feels  himself  free.  Most  peo- 
ple are  more  or  less  hedged  in  by  their  own 
little  affairs.  His  interests  have  no  walls  to 

296 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

shut  him  away  from  other  people  and  their  in- 
terests. He  is  a  man  who  is  in  vital  touch  with 
what  concerns  other  men." 

But  we  come  once  more  to  the  question :  how 
did  he  come  by  the  vital  touch  which  gives  him 
this  power  over  men  and  makes  him  in  a  very 
real  sense  a  citizen  of  the  world?  You  remem- 
ber the  exclamation  of  envious  Cassius  when 
he  was  protesting  to  Brutus  against  the  grow- 
ing influence  of  C&sar: 

Now  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meat  does  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great? 

Cassius  was,  of  course,  speaking  in  grudging 
scorn;  but  we  often  find  ourselves  thinking 
quite  simply  and  sincerely  that  we  would  like  to 
know  what  goes  to  the  making  of  true  power. 

Sometimes  we  like  to  pretend  that  we  can 
explain  the  making  of  a  great  man.  We  say, 
for  example,  of  Lincoln :  he  early  learned  what 
it  meant  to  meet  hardship,  so  he  was  strong  to 
endure ;  by  hard  times  and  hard  work  he  learned 
the  value  of  things,  the  things  that  really  count ; 
he  knew  what  sorrow  was,  and  the  faith  that  is 
greater  than  grief,  so  he  had  a  heart  that  could 

297 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

feel  with  the  sorrows  of  others  and  could  help 
them  to  win  faithfulness  through  suffering. 
Because  a  truly  sympathetic  heart  beats  with 
the  joys  as  well  as  the  griefs  of  others,  he  cared 
for  the  little  things  that  go  to  make  up  the  big 
thing  we  call  living,  and  his  warm  human  touch 
made  him  a  friend  of  simple  people,  with  an 
understanding  of  all.  Thus  it  was  that  he  knew 
people  in  a  real  way  and  life  in  a  true  way,  and 
so  was  able  to  be  the  leader  of  a  nation  in  a 
time  that  tried  the  souls  of  the  bravest.  So  we 
say,  and  fancy  that  we  have  explained  Lincoln. 
But  have  we?  Many  other  boys  knew  toil  and 
want  and  sorrow,  and  many  learned  much,  per- 
haps, in  that  hard  school;  but  there  was  only 
one  Lincoln. 

We  can,  in  truth,  no  more  explain  a  great 
man  than  we  can  explain  life  itself.  How  is  it 
that  the  acorn  has  power  to  take  from  the  earth 
and  air  and  sunshine  the  things  that  make  the 
oak-tree,  the  monarch  of  the  forest?  How  is 
it  that  of  all  the  oaks  in  the  woods  of  the  world 
there  are  no  two  exactly  alike?  How  is  it  that 
among  all  the  children  in  a  family,  in  a  school, 
in  a  nation,  there  are  no  two  really  alike? 

298 


Herbert  C.   Hoover 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

A  boy  I  knew  once  put  the  puzzle  in  this  way : 
"You  would  think  that  twins  would  be  more 
truly  twins  than  they  are.  But  when  they  seem 
most  twinsy,  they  're  somehow  different,  after 
all!" 

All  that  we  can  say  is  that  each  child  is  him- 
self alone,  and  that  as  the  days  go  by  the  things 
he  sees  and  hears,  the  things  he  thinks  about 
and  loves,  the  things  he  dreams  and  the  things 
he  does,  are  somehow  made  a  part  of  him  just 
as  the  soil  and  sunshine  are  made  into  the  tree. 

What  was  it  in  the  Iowa  farm  life  that  be- 
came a  part  of  the  Quaker  boy,  Herbert 
Hoover?  He  learned  to  look  life  in  the  face, 
simply  and  frankly.  Hard  work,  resolute 
wrestling  with  the  brown  earth,  made  his  mus- 
cles firm  and  his  nerves  steady.  The  passing 
of  the  days  and  the  seasons,  the  coming  of  the 
rain,  the  dew,  and  the  frost,  and  the  sweep  of 
the  storm,  awoke  in  his  spirit  a  love  of  nature 
and  a  delight  in  nature's  laws.  "All 's  love, 
yet  all  's  law,"  whispered  the  wind  as  it  passed 
over  the  fields  of  bending  grain.  Since  all  was 
law,  one  might,  by  studying  the  ways  of  seed 
and  soil  and  weather,  win  a  larger  harvest  than 

301 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

the  steadiest  toil,  unaided  by  reason  and  re- 
source, could  coax  from  the  long  furrows.  It 
was  clear  that  thinking  and  planning  brought  a 
liberal  increase  to  the  yield  of  each  acre.  The 
might  of  man  was  not  in  muscle  but  in  mind. 

Then  came  the  move  to  Oregon.  How  the 
Golden  West  opened  up  a  whole  vista  of  new 
ideas  1  How  many  kinds  of  interesting  people 
there  were  in  the  world!  He  longed  to  go  to 
college  where  one  could  get  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
the  whole  field  of  what  life  had  to  offer  before 
settling  down  to  work  in  his  own  particular  lit- 
tle garden-patch. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  a  Quaker  school,  or  a 
college  founded  by  any  other  special  sect,"  he 
said.  "I  want  to  go  where  I  will  have  a  chance 
to  see  and  judge  everything  fairly,  without 
prejudice  for  or  against  any  one  line  of 
thought." 

"The  way  of  the  Friends  is  a  liberal  enough 
way  for  a  son  of  mine,  or  for  any  God-fearing 
person,"  was  his  guardian's  reply.  "Thee 
must  not  expect  thy  people  to  send  thee  to  a 
place  of  worldly  fashions  and  ideas." 

"It  looks  as  if  I  should  have  to  send  myself, 
302 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

then,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  smile  in  his 
clear  eyes,  but  with  his  chin  looking  even  more 
determined  than  was  its  usual  firm  habit. 

When  Leland  Stanford  Junior  University 
opened  its  doors  in  1891,  Herbert  C.  Hoover 
was  one  of  those  applying  for  admission.  The 
first  student  to  register  for  the  engineering 
course,  he  was  the  distinguished  nucleus  of  the 
Department  of  Geology  and  Mining.  The  first 
problem  young  Hoover  had  to  solve  at  college, 
however,  was  the  way  of  meeting  his  living  ex- 
penses. 

"What  chances  are  there  for  a  chap  to  earn 
money  here?"  he  asked. 

"The  only  job  that  seems  to  be  lying  about 
loose  is  that  of  serving  in  the  dining-rooms," 
he  was  told.  "Student  waiters  are  always  in 
demand." 

The  young  Quaker  looked  as  if  he  had  been 
offered  an  unripe  persimmon.  l  *  I  suppose  it  's 
true  that  'they  also  serve  who  only  stand  and 
wait,'  "  he  drawled  whimsically,  "but  somehow 
I  can't  quite  see  myself  in  the  part.  And  any- 
way," he  added  reflectively,  "I  don't  know  that 
I  need  depend  on  a  job  that  is  'lying  about 

303 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

loose.*  I  should  n't  wonder  if  I  'd  have  to  look 
out  for  an  opening  that  hasn't  been  offered  to 
every  passer-by  and  become  shop-worn." 

He  had  not  been  many  days  at  the  university 
before  he  discovered  a  need  and  an  opportunity. 
There  was  no  college  laundry.  "I  think  that 
the  person  who  undertakes  to  organize  the 
clean-linen  business  in  this  academic  settlement 
will  'also  serve,'  and  he  won't  have  to  'wait* 
for  his  reward!"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  really  successful  man  of  business  is  one 
who  can  at  the  same  time  create  a  demand  and 
provide  the  means  of  meeting  it.  The  college 
community  awoke  one  morning  to  the  realiza- 
tion that  it  needed  above  everything  else  effi- 
cient laundry- service.  And  it  seemed  that  an 
alert  young  student  of  mining  engineering  was 
managing  the  business.  Before  long  it  was 
clear,  not  only  that  the  college  was  by  way  of 
being  systematically  and  satisfactorily  served 
in  this  respect,  but  that,  what  was  even  more 
important,  a  man  with  a  veritable  genius  for 
organization  had  appeared  on  the  campus.  It 
soon  became  natural  to  "let  Hoover  manage" 
the  various  student  undertakings;  and  to  this 

304 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

day  "the  way  Hoover  did  things"  is  one  of  the 
most  firmly  established  traditions  of  Leland 
Stanford. 

Graduating  from  the  university  in  the  pio- 
neer class  of  1895,  he  served  his  apprenticeship 
at  the  practical  work  of  mining  engineering  in 
Nevada  County,  California,  by  sending  ore- 
laden  cars  from  the  opening  of  the  mine  to  the 
reducing  works.  He  earned  two  dollars  a  day 
at  this  job,  and  also  the  opportunity  to  prove 
himself  equal  to  greater  responsibility.  The 
foreman  nodded  approvingly  and  said, 
" There  *s  a  young  chap  that  college  couldn't 
spoil!  He  has  a  degree  plus  common  sense, 
and  so  is  ready  to  learn  something  from  the 
experience  that  comes  his  way.  And  he  's  al- 
ways on  the  job — right  to  the  minute.  Any  one 
can  see  he  's  one  that 's  bound  for  the  top  1" 

It  seemed  as  if  Fate  were  determined  from 
the  first  that  the  young  man  should  qualify  as 
a  citizen  of  the  world  as  well  as  a  master  of 
mines.  We  next  find  him  in  that  dreary  waste 
of  New  South  Wales  known  as  Broken  Hill. 
In  a  sun-smitten  desert,  whose  buried  wealth  of 
zinc  and  gold  is  given  grudgingly  only  to  those 

305 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

who  have  grit  to  endure  weary,  parched  days 
and  pitiless,  lonely  nights,  he  met  the  ordeal, 
and  proved  himself  still  a  man  in  No  Man's 
Land.  He  looked  the  desert  phantoms  in  the 
face,  and  behold!  they  faded  like  a  mirage. 
Only  the  chance  of  doing  a  full-sized  man's 
work  remained. 

The  Broken  Hill  contract  completed,  he  found 
new  problems  as  a  mining  expert  and  manager 
of  men  in  China.  But  he  did  not  go  to  this  new 
field  alone.  While  at  college  he  had  found  in 
one  of  his  fellow-workers  a  kindred  spirit,  who 
was  interested  in  the  real  things  that  were  meat 
and  drink  to  him.  Miss  Lou  Henry  was  a  live 
California  girl,  with  warm  human  charm  and 
a  hobby  for  the  marvels  of  geology.  It  was  not 
strange  that  these  two  found  it  easy  to  fall  into 
step,  and  that  after  a  while  they  decided  to  fare 
forth  on  the  adventure  of  living  together. 

It  was  an  adventure  with  something  more 
than  the  thrill  of  novel  experience  and  the  tonic 
of  meeting  new  problems  that  awaited  them 
in  the  Celestial  Empire.  For  a  long  time  a  very 
strong  feeling  against  foreigners  and  the 
changed  life  they  were  introducing  into  China 

306 


HERBEKT  C.  HOOVER 

had  been  smoldering  among  many  of  the  peo- 
ple. There  was  a  large  party  who  believed  that 
change  was  dangerous.  They  did  not  want  rail- 
roads built  and  mines  worked.  The  snorting 
locomotive,  belching  fire  and  smoke,  seemed  to 
them  the  herald  of  the  hideous  new  order  of 
things  that  the  struggling  peoples  of  the  West 
were  trying  to  bring  into  their  mellow,  peace- 
ful civilization.  The  digging  down  into  the 
ground  was  particularly  alarming.  Surely, 
that  could  not  fail  to  disturb  the  dragon  who 
slept  within  the  earth  and  whose  mighty  length 
was  coiled  about  the  very  foundations  of  the 
world.  There  would  be  earthquakes  and  other 
terrible  signs  of  his  anger. 

The  Boxer  Society,  whose  name  meant  "the 
fist  of  righteous  harmony,"  and  whose  slogan 
was  "Down  with  all  foreigners,"  became  very 
powerful.  "Let  us  be  true  to  the  old  customs 
and  keep  China  in  the  safe  old  way!"  was  the 
cry  of  the  Boxers.  The  "righteous  harmony" 
meant  "China  first,"  and  "China  for  the  Chi- 
nese"; the  "fist"  meant  "Death  to  Intruders!" 
There  was  a  general  uprising  in  1900,  and  many 
foreigners  and  Chinese  Christians  were  massa- 

307 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

cred.  Mr.  Hoover,  who  was  at  Tientsin  in 
charge  of  important  mining  interests,  found 
himself  at  the  storm-center.  It  was  his  task  to 
help  save  his  faithful  workers,  yellow  men  as 
well  as  white,  from  the  infuriated  mob. 

There  was  a  time  when  it  looked  as  if  the  ris- 
ing tide  of  rebellion  would  sweep  away  all  that 
opposed  it  before  reinforcements  from  the 
Western  nations  could  arrive.  And  when  the 
troops  did  pour  into  Peking  and  Tientsin  to 
rescue  the  besieged  foreigners,  another  lawless 
period  succeeded.  Mr.  Hoover  found  it  almost 
as  hard  to  protect  property  and  innocent  Chi- 
nese from  soldiers,  thirsty  for  loot,  as  it  had 
been  to  hold  the  desperate  Boxers  at  bay.  The 
victorious  troops  as  well  as  the  vanquished 
fanatics  seemed  to 

have  eaten  on  the  insane  root 
That  takes  the  reason  prisoner. 

The  master  of  mines  had  a  chance  to  prove 
himself  now  a  master  of  men.  He  succeeded  in 
safeguarding  the  interests  of  his  company,  and 
somehow  he  managed,  too,  to  keep  his  faith  in 
people  in  spite  of  the  war  madness.  He  never 
doubted  that  the  wave  of  unreason  and  cruelty 

308 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

would  pass,  like  the  blackness  of  a  storm.  Rea- 
son and  humanity  would  prevail,  and  kindly 
Nature  would  make  each  battle-scarred  field  of 
struggle  and  bloodshed  smile  again  with  flow- 
ers. 

The  adventure  of  living  led  the  Hoovers  to 
Australia,  to  Africa,  to  any  and  all  places 
where  there  were  mines  to  be  worked.  As  man- 
ager of  some  very  important  mining  interests 
Mr.  Hoover's  judgment  was  sought  wherever 
the  struggle  to  win  the  treasures  of  the  rocks 
presented  special  problems.  He  had  now 
gained  wealth  and  influence,  but  he  was  too  big 
a  man  to  rest  back  on  what  he  had  accomplished 
and  content  himself  with  making  money. 

"I  have  all  the  money  I  need,"  he  said.  "I 
want  to  do  some  real  work ;  it 's  only  doing 
things  that  counts." 

You  know,  of  course,  the  joy  of  doing  some- 
thing quite  apart  from  anything  you  have  to 
do,  just  because  you  have  taken  up  with  the  idea 
for  its  own  sake.  Then  you  run  to  meet  any 
amount  of  effort,  and  work  becomes  play.  Mr. 
Hoover  and  his  wife  now  took  up  a  task  to- 
gether with  all  the  zest  that  one  puts  into  a 

309 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

fascinating  game.  Can  you  imagine  getting 
fun  out  of  translating  a  great  Latin  book  about 
mines  and  minerals! 

"For  some  time  I  have  looked  forward  to 
putting  old  Agricola  into  English,"  explained 
Mr.  Hoover;  "we  are  having  a  real  holiday 
working  it  up. ' ' 

"Who  in  the  world  was  Agricola,  and  what 
does  he  matter  to  you?"  demanded  his  friend, 
in  amazement. 

"Agricola,  my  dear  fellow,  was  the  Latinized 
name  of  a  German  mining  engineer  who  lived 
in  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century — a 
time  when  it  was  not  only  the  fashion  to  turn 
one's  name  into  Latin,  but  to  write  all  books 
of  any  importance  in  that  language.  He  mat- 
ters a  good  deal  to  any  one  who  happens  to  be 
especially  interested  in  the  science  of  mining. 
This  volume  we  are  at  work  on  is  the  corner- 
stone of  that  science." 

"How,  then,  does  it  happen  that  it  has  never 
been  translated  before?"  asked  the  friend. 

"Well,"  replied  Mr.  Hoover,  with  some  hesi- 
tation, "you  see  it  wasn't  a  particularly  easy 
job.  Agricola 's  Latin  had  its  limitations,  but 

310 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

his  knowledge  of  minerals  and  mining  problems 
was  prodigious.  Only  a  mining  expert  could 
possibly  get  at  what  he  was  trying  to  say,  and 
most  mining  experts  have  something  more  pay- 
ing to  do  than  to  undertake  a  thing  of  this  kind. " 

"I  see,"  retorted  his  friend,  with  a  smile; 
''you  are  doing  this  because  you  have  nothing 
more  paying  to  do!" 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Hoover,  quietly,  "there 
is  nothing  that  is  more  paying  than  the  thing 
that  is  your  work — because  you  particularly 
want  to  do  it." 

Mr.  Hoover  would  say  without  any  hesita- 
tion that  the  work  which  he  volunteered  to  do 
when  the  storm  of  the  great  war  broke  on  Eu- 
rope in  August,  1914,  was  "paying"  in  the 
same  way.  This  citizen  of  the  world  was  at  his 
London  headquarters,  from  which,  as  consult- 
ing engineer,  he  was  directing  vast  mining  inter- 
ests, when  the  panic  of  fear  seized  the  crowds 
of  American  tourists  who  had  gone  abroad  as 
to  a  favorite  pleasure-park  and  had  found  it 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  battle-field.  Hun- 
dreds of  people  were  as  frightened  and  helpless 
as  children  caught  in  a  burning  building.  All 

311 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

at  once  they  found  themselves  in  a  strange, 
threatening  world,  without  means  of  escape. 

"Nobody  seemed  to  know  what  was  to  be  done 
with  us,  and  nobody  seemed  to  care, ' '  explained 
a  Vassar  girl.  *  *  Their  mobilizing  was  the  only 
thing  that  mattered  to  them.  There  were  no 
trains  and  steamers  for  us,  and  no  money  for 
our  checks  and  letters  of  credit.  Then  Mr. 
Hoover  came  to  the  rescue.  He  saw  that  some- 
thing was  done,  and  it  was  done  effectively.  It 
took  generalship,  I  can  tell  you,  to  handle  that 
stampede — to  get  people  from  the  Continent 
into  England,  to  arrange  for  the  advancement  of 
funds  to  meet  their  needs,  and  to  provide  means 
of  getting  them  back  to  America.  They  say  he 
is  a  wonderful  engineer,  but  I  don't  think  he 
ever  carried  through  any  more  remarkable  engi- 
neering feat  than  that  was!" 

The  matter  of  giving  temporary  relief  and 
providing  transportation  for  some  six  or  seven 
thousand  anxious  Americans  was  a  simple  un- 
dertaking, however,  compared  to  Mr.  Hoover's 
next  task. 

In  the  autumn  of  1914  the  cry  of  a  whole  na- 
tion in  distress  startled  the  world.  The  people 

312 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

of  Belgium  were  starving.  The  terror  and  de- 
struction of  war  had  swept  over  a  helpless  little 
country  leaving  want  and  misery  everywhere. 
There  was  need  of  instant  and  efficient  aid.  Of 
course  only  a  neutral  would  be  permitted  to 
serve,  and  equally  of  course,  only  a  man  used 
to  handling  great  enterprises — a  captain  of  in- 
dustry and  a  master  of  men — would  be  able  to 
serve  in  such  a  crisis.  It  did  not  take  a  prophet 
or  seer  to  see  in  Herbert  Clark  Hoover,  that 
master  of  vast  engineering  projects  who  had 
given  himself  so  generously  to  helping  his  fel- 
low-Americans in  distress,  a  man  fitted  to  meet 
the  needs  of  the  time.  And  Mr.  Walter  H.  Page, 
American  Ambassador  to  England,  appealed  to 
Mr.  Hoover,  American  in  London,  citizen  of 
the  world  and  lover  of  humanity,  to  act  as  chair- 
man of  the  Commission  for  Relief  in  Belgium. 

"Who  is  this  Mr.  Hoover,  and  will  he  be  really 
able  to  man  and  manage  the  relief-ship?"  was 
demanded  on  every  side,  in  America  as  well  as 
in  Europe. 

"If  anybody  can  save  Belgium,  he  can," 
vouched  Mr.  Page.  "There  never  was  such  a 
genius  for  organization.  He  can  grasp  the 

313 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

most  complex  problems,  wheels  within  wheels, 
and  get  all  the  cogs  running  in  perfect  harmony. 
Besides,  he  will  have  the  courage  to  act  promptly 
as  well  as  effectively  when  once  he  has  deter- 
mined on  the  right  course  to  pursue.  He  is  not 
afraid  of  precedent  and  red  tape.  A  man  who 
has  developed  and  directed  large  mining  inter- 
ests all  over  the  world  and  who  has  been  consult- 
ing engineer  for  over  fifty  mining  companies, 
he  cares  more  about  doing  a  good  job  than  mak- 
ing money.  He  's  giving  himself  now  heart  and 
soul  to  this  relief  work,  and  we  may  be  sure,  if 
the  thing  is  humanly  possible,  that  he  will  find 
a  way." 

Can  you  picture  to  yourself  the  plight  of  Bel- 
gium after  the  cruel  war-machine  had  mowed 
down  all  industries  and  trade  -and  had  swept 
the  fields  bare  of  crops  and  farm  animals? 
Think  of  a  country,  about  the  size  of  the  State 
of  Maryland,  so  closely  dotted  with  towns  and 
villages  that  there  were  more  than  eight  mil- 
lion people  living  there — as  many  people  as 
there  are  in  all  our  great  western  States  on  the 
Pacific  side  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  This 
smallest  country  of  Europe  was  the  most 

314 


HEEBERT  C.  HOOVER 

densely  settled  and  the  most  prosperous.  The 
Belgians  were  a  nation  of  skilled  workers. 
Many  were  makers  of  cloth  and  lace.  The 
linen,  woolen,  and  delicate  cotton  fabrics  woven 
in  Belgium  were  as  famous  as  Brussels  carpets 
and  Brussels  lace.  Since  it  was  a  land  particu- 
larly rich  in  coal,  manufacturing  of  all  sorts 
was  very  profitable.  There  were  important 
metal-works;  nail,  wire,  and  brass  factories; 
and  workshops  of  gold  and  silver  articles.  The 
glass  and  pottery  works  were  also  important. 
Little  Belgium  was  a  veritable  hive  of  busy 
workers,  whose  products  were  sent  all  over  the 
world. 

Of  course,  you  can  see  that  an  industrial  coun- 
try like  this  would  have  to  import  much  of  its 
food.  The  small  farms  and  market-gardens 
could  not  at  best  supply  the  needs  of  the  people 
for  more  than  three  or  four  months  of  the  year. 
Just  as  our  big  cities  must  depend  on  importing 
provisions  from  the  country,  so  Belgium  de- 
pended on  buying  food-stuffs  from  agricultural 
communities  in  exchange  for  her  manufactured 
articles. 

Now  can  you  realize  what  happened  when  the 
315 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

war  came?  There  was  no  longer  any  chance 
for  the  people  to  make  and  sell  their  goods.  All 
the  mills  and  metal-works  were  stopped.  The 
conquerors  seized  all  the  mines  and  metals. 
Everything  that  could  serve  Germany  in  any 
way  was  shipped  to  that  country.  The  rail- 
roads, of  course,  were  in  the  hands  of  the  Ger- 
mans, and  so  each  town  and  village  was  cut  off 
from  communication  with  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  harvests  that  had  escaped  destruction  by 
the  trampling  armies  were  seized  to  feed  the 
troops.  Even  the  scattered  farm-houses  were 
robbed  of  their  little  stores  of  grain  and  vege- 
tables. 

The  task  with  which  Mr.  Hoover  had  to  cope 
was  that  of  buying  food  for  ten  million  people 
(in  Belgium  and  northern  France),  shipping  it 
across  seas  made  dangerous  by  mines  and  sub- 
marines of  the  warring  nations,  and  distributing 
it  throughout  an  entire  country  without  any  of 
the  normal  means  of  transportation.  Let  us  see 
how  he  went  to  work.  First  he  secured  the  help 
of  other  energetic,  able  young  Americans  who 
only  wanted  to  be  put  to  work.  Chief  among 
these  volunteers  were  the  Rhodes  scholars  at 

316 


Cbciftmao  m  c  m  j: 


It!)  the  COTDUl  tlMllUS  Of  t!)f 

poor  rliilDrcn  of  amtfflrrp 

to  rfific  hniD-ljfartfD  commote 
of  fhf  Diurr D  s>ratca  for  ttif ir 


///// ./    t 


A  n  I  VT  c  r  p  Primed  with  the  old 


ChritropbonB  Planiinos 


The    Belgian    children 's   Christmas   card,    printed    at 
the  Plantin  Museum  in  Antwerp 


HERBEKT  C.  HOOVER 

Oxford,  picked  men  who  had  been  given  special 
opportunities  and  who  realized  that  true  educa- 
tion means  ability  to  serve.  Without  confusion 
or  delay  the  relief  army  was  organized  and  the 
campaign  for  the  war  sufferers  under  way. 

It  was  a  business  without  precedents,  a  sea 
that  had  never  been  charted,  this  work  of  the 
Relief  Commission.  At  a  time  when  England 
was  vitally  and  entirely  concerned  with  her  war 
problems  and  when  all  railroads  and  steamships 
were  supposed  to  be  at  the  command  of  the  gov- 
ernment, Mr.  Hoover  quietly  arranged  for  the 
transportation  of  supplies  to  meet  the  immedi- 
ate needs  of  Belgium.  Going  on  the  principle 
that  "when  a  thing  is  really  necessary  it  is  bet- 
ter to  do  it  first  and  ask  permission  afterward," 
Mr.  Hoover  saw  his  cargoes  safely  stowed  and 
the  hatches  battened  down  before  he  went  to 
secure  his  clearance  papers. 

* '  We  must  be  permitted  to  leave  at  once,  ' '  he 
declared  urgently.  "If  I  do  not  get  four  car- 
goes of  food  to  Belgium  by  the  end  of  the  week, 
thousands  are  going  to  die  of  starvation,  and 
many  more  may  be  shot  in  food  riots. ' ' 

"Out  of  the  question!"  replied  the  cabinet 
319 


HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

minister,  positively.  "  There  is  no  time,  in  the 
first  place,  and  if  there  were,  there  are  no  good 
wagons  to  be  spared  by  the  railways,  no  dock 
hands,  and  no  steamers.  Besides,  the  Channel 
is  closed  to  merchant  ships  for  a  week  to  allow 
the  passage  of  army  transports." 

"I  have  managed  to  get  all  these  things," 
Hoover  interposed,  "and  am  now  through  with 
them  all  except  the  steamers.  This  wire  tells 
me  that  these  are  loaded  and  ready  to  sail,  and  I 
have  come  to  you  to  arrange  for  their  clear- 
ance." 

The  distinguished  official  looked  at  Hoover 
aghast.  "There  have  been  men  sent  to  the 
Tower  for  less  than  you  have  done,  young 
man!"  he  exclaimed.  "If  it  was  for  anything 
but  Belgium  Relief, — if  it  was  anybody  but 
you, — I  should  hate  to  think  of  what  might  hap- 
pen. As  it  is — I  suppose  I  must  congratulate 
you  on  a  jolly  clever  coup.  I  '11  see  about  the 
clearance  papers  at  once." 

First  and  last,  the  chief  obstacles  with  which 
the  Relief  Commission  had  to  deal  were  due  to 
the  suspicions  of  the  two  great  antagonists, 
England  and  Germany,  each  of  whom  was  bent 

320 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

on  preventing  the  other  from  securing  the  slight- 
est advantage  from  the  least  chance  or  mis- 
chance. Now  it  was  the  British  Foreign  Office 
which  sent  a  long  communication,  fairly  swathed 
in  red  tape,  suggesting  changes  in  relief  meth- 
ods, which,  if  carried  out,  would  have  held  up 
the  food  of  seven  million  people  for  two  days. 
In  this  stress  Mr.  Hoover  dispensed  with  the 
services  of  a  clerk  and  wrote  the  following  let- 
ter, which  served  to  lighten  a  dark  day  at  the 
Foreign  Office,  in  his  own  hand : 

Dear  Blank: 

It  strikes  me  that  trying  to  feed  the  Belgians  is  like  try- 
ing to  feed  a  hungry  little  kitten  by  means  of  a  forty-foot 
bamboo  pole,  said  kitten  confined  in  a  barred  cage  occupied 
by  two  hungry  lions. 

Yours  sincerely, 

HERBERT  C.  HOOVER. 

In  April,  1915,  a  German  submarine,  in  its 
zeal  to  nip  England,  torpedoed  one  of  the  Com- 
mission's food-ships,  and  somewhat  later  an 
aeroplane  tried  to  drop  bombs  on  another.  Mr. 
Hoover  at  once  paid  a  flying  visit  to  Berlin.  He 
was  assured  that  Germany  regretted  the  inci- 
dent and  that  it  would  not  happen  again. 

"Thanks,"  said  Hoover.  "Perhaps  your 
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Excellency  has  heard  about  the  man  who  was 
bitten  by  a  bad-tempered  dog?  He  went  to  the 
owner  to  have  the  dog  muzzled. 

"  'But  the  dog  won't  bite  you,'  insisted  the 
owner. 

"  'You  know  he  won't  bite  me,  and  I  know 
he  won't  bite  me,'  said  the  injured  man,  doubt- 
fully, 'but  the  question  is,  does  the  dog  know?'  " 

"Herr  Hoover,"  said  the  high  official,  "par- 
don me  if  I  leave  you  for  a  moment.  I  am  going 
at  once  to  'let  the  dog  know.'  " 

Another  incident  which  throws  light  on  the 
character  and  influence  of  our  citizen  of  the 
world  was  related  by  Mr.  Lloyd-George,  the 
first  man  of  England,  to  a  group  of  friends  at 
the  Liberal  Club.  Here  is  the  story  in  the 
great  Welshman's  own  words: 

"  'Mr.  Hoover,'  I  said,  'I  find  I  am  quite  un- 
able to  grant  your  request  in  the  matter  of  Bel- 
gian exchange,  and  I  have  asked  you  to  come 
here  that  I  might  explain  why. '  Without  wait- 
ing for  me  to  go  on,  my  boyish-looking  caller 
began  speaking.  For  fifteen  minutes  he  spoke 
without  a  break — just  about  the  clearest  utter- 
ance I  have  ever  heard  on  any  subject.  He  used 

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HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

not  a  word  too  much,  nor  yet  a  word  too  few. 
By  the  time  he  had  finished  I  had  come  to  real- 
ize not  only  the  importance  of  his  contentions, 
but,  what  was  more  to  the  point,  the  practicabil- 
ity of  granting  his  request.  So  I  did  the  only 
thing  possible  under  the  circumstances — told 
him  I  had  never  understood  the  question  before, 
thanked  him  for  helping  me  to  understand  it, 
and  saw  that  things  were  arranged  as  he  wanted 
them." 

As  Mr.  Lloyd-George  was  impressed  by  the 
quiet  efficiency  of  his  "boyish-looking  caller," 
so  the  whole  world  was  impressed  by  the  mas- 
terly system  with  which  the  great  work  was  car- 
ried forward.  Wheat  was  bought  by  the  ship- 
load in  Argentina,  transported  to  Belgium, 
where  it  was  milled  and  made  into  bread,  and 
then  sold  for  less  than  the  price  in  London. 
The  details  of  distribution  were  so  handled  as 
to  remove  all  chance  for  waste  and  dishonesty; 
and  finally,  the  cost  of  the  work  itself — the  total 
expense  of  the  Relief  Commission — was  less 
than  one-half  of  one  per  cent,  of  the  money  ex- 
pended. 

Many  of  the  Belgians  were,  of  course,  able  to 
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HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

pay  for  their  food.  They  had  property  or  se- 
curities on  which  money  could  be  raised.  The 
destitute  people  were  the  peasants  and  wage- 
earners  whose  only  dependence  for  daily  bread 
— their  daily  labor — had  been  taken  from  them 
by  the  war. 

In  the  winter  of  1917  Mr.  Hoover  came  to 
America  to  tell  about  conditions  in  Belgium  and 
the  work  of  the  Relief  Commission.  Looking 
his  fellow-citizens  quietly  in  the  face  he  said: 
"America  has  received  virtually  all  the  credit 
for  the  help  given,  and  we  do  not  deserve  it. 
Out  of  $250,000,000  that  have  been  spent,  only 
$9,000,000  have  come  from  the  United  States, 
the  rich  nation  blest  with  peace — who  owes, 
moreover,  much  of  her  present  prosperity  to 
the  misfortunes  of  the  unhappy  Belgians,  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  money  expended  for  re- 
lief supplies  has  come  to  this  country." 

There  is  not  a  child  in  Belgium  who  does  not 
know  how  Mr.  Brand  Whitlock,  the  American 
Ambassador,  and  other  American  "Great- 
hearts,"  have  stood  by  them  in  their  terrible 
need,  just  as  they  know  that  the  wonderful 
" Christmas  Ship,"  laden  with  gifts  from  chil- 

324 


HERBERT  C.  HOOVER 

dren  to  children,  came  from  America.  They 
have  come  to  look  on  the  Stars  and  Stripes  as 
the  symbol  of  all  that  is  good  and  kind.  In  his 
book,  "War  Bread,"  Mr.  Edward  E.  Hunt,  who 
was  one  of  the  members  of  the  Relief  Commis- 
sion, prints  several  letters  from  Belgian  chil- 
dren. Here  is  one  signed  "Marie  Meersman." 

I  have  often  heard  a  little  girl  friend  of  mine  speak  of 
an  uncle  who  sent  her  many  things  from  America,  and  I 
was  jealous.  But  now  I  have  more  than  one  uncle,  and 
they  send  me  more  than  my  friend's  uncle  did,  for  it  is 
thanks  to  you,  dear  uncles,  that  I  have  a  good  slice  of 
bread  every  day. 

All  Americans  who  once  realize  that  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  the  money  spent  for  Bel- 
gium has  come  from  the  nations  on  whom  the 
burdens  of  war  are  pressing  most  heavily  must 
want  America  to  do  much  more. 

Do  you  know  the  story  of  the  kind-hearted 
passer-by  who  was  so  moved  by  the  misfortune 
of  a  workman,  hurt  in  an  accident,  that  he  ex- 
claimed aloud,  in  an  agonized  tone,  "Poor  fel- 
low !  Poor,  poor  fellow ! ' '  Another  bystander, 
however,  reached  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out 
some  money.  "Here,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 

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HEROES  OF  TO-DAY 

first  speaker,  "I  am  sorry  five  dollars'  worth. 
How  sorry  are  you?" 

That  is  the  question  that  Mr.  Hoover  has  put 
to  America :  ' '  What  value  do  you  put  on  your 
thankfulness  for  peace  and  prosperity  and  your 
sympathy  for  a  suffering  people  less  .fortunate 
than  yourselves  7 ' ' 

As  we  look  at  Mr.  Hoover,  however,  we  say, 
"In  giving  him  to  the  work,  America  has  at 
least  given  of  her  best."  And  we  like  to  think 
that  he  is  truly  American  because  his  interests 
and  sympathies  are  as  broad  as  humanity,  be- 
cause all  mankind  is  his  business,  because  in 
deed  and  in  truth  he  is  "a  citizen  of  the  world." 


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